In Between the Script
by scriptmanip
Summary: A collection of one-shots all taking place within series three and the following summer. All Naomily-based though other characters from the gen will pop in from time to time.
1. Chapter 1: 3x04 & 3x05

**Author's Note:** There are very few things that exist on this planet that could ever hope to surpass the magic of Naomi Campbell and Emily Fitch. It's a scientific certainty. And although I could watch Series 3 on repeat and be blissfully happy, I'm also greedy enough to want more. And what I want is to know what might have happened had the cameras kept rolling on Emily or Naomi or Emily & Naomi. And here's how I think it went down. This first bit takes place after 3x04 and during 3x05.

** I do not own nor have affiliation with Skins unless you count sleeping with the box set under my pillow at night.

Emily sat on the edge of her bed, facing the window on Katie's side of the room. She stared blankly at the typical greying sky of a Bristol afternoon and traced the pattern on the duvet with her index finger. Lost in thoughts of misfitting pyjamas, brownies and bouncy castles, the sound of Katie banging loudly through the bedroom door startled her in a way that made a pain shoot through her chest.

"What in fucking hell are you doing, _weirdo_?" Katie assaulted as she breezed into the room, wearing only her bra and knickers, a bath towel wound tightly around her head. "I swear to fucking god the next time I catch James perving through that bathroom keyhole, I'm stabbing his eye socket with my mascara brush." She stood in front of the closet, sifting through the fabrics of her clothing and looked over her shoulder at Emily who remained unengaged. "Have you gone fucking mental, Ems, or what? Get up and shower - we're going out."

Katie's invitations were always much more like demands when it came to Emily.

"Going where?" Emily finally asked, her tone flat and uninterested.

"Danny and his mates are throwing a proper party tonight - none of that primary school pyjama party bullshit with smuggled booze and fucking board games. And you're coming with me."

"Didn't Danny essentially crash an all-girls sleepover full of 17-year-olds? Isn't that a bit weird?"

"Whatever, Emily, don't be such a prude bitch. You'd do yourself right nice to get sorted by an older guy," Katie remarked pulling a shirt over her head and adjusting her rack in the full length mirror. "Go get in the shower for fuck's sake!"

"Katie, I don't want -"

"Now!" Katie shouted, turning to face her and stomping her foot against the floor. Then her face softened as she crossed her arms along her stomach. "Listen, I saw you at Panda's with her. With _Naomi_." Katie always said her name like she couldn't stomach the taste.

Emily's head snapped up, her eyes narrowed in part terror, part denial. "What? Saw me what? I didn't -" Emily started.

And although visions of Emily rolling about and hovering over that blonde girl fought their way to Katie's conscious, she closed her eyes, shook her head to rid herself of the memory, and instead answered, "I saw you lolling after her all night like some lost pup. It's pathetic."

"Fuck you, Katie. She's -" Emily started again, stumbling over an attempt to put Naomi Campbell into words. Failed miserably. "I'm not pathetic," she finally managed, sounding all together rather pathetic.

"No, you're not. Which is why you're coming with me so fucking get on with it." Katie threw a bath towel in Emily's direction.

"I'd rather shove hot needles into my eyelids than watch a room full of greasy, heaving Bristol Rovers trying to perve on your tits."

Katie smirked into the mirror and pulled the neck of her slinky top down, further revealing a cleavage. "Well, too fucking bad. I already told mum we were off to the cinema, so you have to come."

Emily exhaled loudly, grabbed her towel off the floor by her feet and stomped off towards the toilet.

* * *

Emily sat slumped on the staircase, leaning her shoulder against the rail and watching her twin - loud, extroverted and often rather obnoxious - holding court across the room. Katie gestured wildly with her hands when she talked. The tossers around her never took their eyes off her tits.

"Fucking hell," Emily mumbled and made her way down the stairs. She choked her way through the crowd of over-cologned Rovers and the bimbos who tried to date them, grabbed a half-empty bottle of wine and headed out the front door. With fresh air in her lungs and the awful, blaring techno-pop now just a muffled memory, Emily took a seat on the front stoop and pulled off the bottle.

* * *

Naomi sat on her bed, legs stretched out and crossed at her ankles, an over-sized textbook in her lap. She pulled her mobile from between her left thigh and the bed linen, looked at the screen, sighed not knowing why she'd bothered to check it at all, and placed it back on the bed.

**_"With increasing regularity during the 14th century, the Lords and particularly the Commons acted on a sense that they should have an active say in government, instead of merely consenting to the taxation decisions of the King."_**

She'd read the same passage 17 times, each time her mind wandering off to crooked smiles, eager, sparkling eyes, and stupid red fucking hair. Naomi put her eyes to the page again. Read the passage on Parliament _again_. Right around "consenting to the taxation," Naomi jumped as her mobile buzzed against her leg. She grabbed at it quickly, froze when she saw the name on the screen, raked her top lip across her bottom teeth, and exhaled before answering.

"So, drunk-dialing me now, are you then?"

"Sorry?" Emily glanced down at her phone, suddenly unsure if she'd dialed the right number.

"It's nearly midnight," Naomi answered.

"And you've already had your chamomile and tucked yourself under the afghans, have you, Granny?"

"You're fucking hysterical at this time of night, you know," Naomi said dryly though failed at keeping the corners of her mouth from turning upward. "So … what do you want?"

Emily had rehearsed what came next at least 100 times since the morning she woke up from Pandora's sleepover, a crook in her neck from sleeping in a lounge chair and her head pounding from white wine and sugary cider. Naomi had taken a spot on the floor until she realized Pandora wasn't claiming her own bed and had crawled in under the duvet. Emily was awake as she moved, but kept her eyes closed, her every nerve end tingling at the thought of crawling into bed, feeling Naomi's lips against hers again. Emily thought at that moment, she might never be able to think on anything else other than kissing Naomi Campbell ever again.

"Hello-o-o," the voice on the other end of the line, _Naomi's_voice, sent Emily smashing back to the present. "You've not passed out in your own vomit or something, have you?"

"Fucking hell, I'm not pissed! I'm with Katie at some stupid party thrown by her stupid wanker boyfriend, and I just -" she stopped then trying to figure how best to make her voice sound casual again.

"You just …" Naomi echoed impatiently.

"We should hang out. Again. Sometime." Emily bit at her thumbnail as the offer came out slightly more stuttered and less cool than she had planned. The silence on the line made her ears ring, and she took another pull off the wine bottle.

"Should we?" Naomi pushed the textbook off her lap, slid down her bed until she was staring at the ceiling.

"Trivia," was all that Emily could manage after Naomi hadn't flat shut down the idea.

"Sorry?"

"I mean, we should go to trivia. At the pub. Where Cook pretends that weird old guy is his Uncle?"

"I don't know, Emily -"

Hearing Naomi's interest falter should have crushed Emily's spirits, should have flattened her entirely. But Emily smirked with self-confidence, her head tingling at the sound of Naomi saying her name.

"Afraid you'll be found out for not being a big know-it-all or something?"

"That's unlikely." Naomi paused, grabbed the hair at the top of her head and squinted her eyes. And she was smiling again. Smiling at the way Emily Fitch had called her at half-past eleven from a crowded party. Smiling at the easy rhythm of their banter and the way shy, little Emily Fitch had asked to see her again. Fucking hell, she thought. "Trivia, ey?"

"Yeah, trivia. Tomorrow night. It starts at seven, okay?"

And then Naomi had to say it. Had to ruin it the way the way she always did when fear got the better of her. "Fine. But, we're just - I mean, it's not -"

"Christ, Naomi, I'm not going to show up with a fucking bouquet of flowers, if that's what you're worried about. I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"

Naomi slid her hand from her tangled blonde hair to cover her eyes and contorted her mouth before answering, "Yeah."

* * *

Naomi had scowled nearly the entire length of two trivia rounds, had barely made conversation outside of commenting on the absurdity of Keith's quiz questions. She'd also avoided making much eye contact, always surveying the local drunks, rolling her eyes at the tables filled with other kids from college, even tracing the moist beer rings on the table from their pints of ale. But Emily hadn't taken notice because halfway through their second round of trivia Naomi shifted until her knee was resting against Emily's. Emily froze, took a gulp from her pint, and tried to look anywhere in the pub other than Naomi's direction. But Naomi kept her leg there until they were gathering their things and she'd pushed away from the table. And stupid and simple and meaningless as it was, the warm haze Emily felt as she pushed through the pub door and into the street was partly the pints she'd consumed and partly the contact she'd maintained with Naomi Campbell's kneecap.

As soon as they were out in the cooler night air and walking away from town, from the pub and their peers, Emily felt the tension lift. She felt Naomi relax into easy conversation as Emily regaled her with highlights from the Rovers party Katie had roped her into attending. She talked mostly of Katie and the boys who fawned over her. How where Katie's cleavage walked, the drooling masses followed.

"They do sort of … make their own entrance," Naomi said through stifled laughs.

"Would you mind terribly not perving on my sister's tits, Naomi?" Naomi shrugged and laughed in return.

"Sounds like the party was brilliant. Can't believe you opted out on getting a good shag with one of Danny's football mates. Just think about all the chlamydia you missed out on - how fun!"

Emily crinkled her face in disgust, gagging at the notion. "Ew - trying to make my beer come back up, are you?"

Naomi laughed, looking over at Emily, felt the air relax around them. Felt her breathing normalize where it had been stunted and constricted while sitting so close in the pub, surrounded by kids like Cook and Freddie and others from their form. She was sure she had felt them leering, working herself up until she was certain they'd all been talking, speculating about her and Emily out alone. She'd tried to remind herself that she didn't care, couldn't care less what the lot of them thought about her. So Naomi kept her expression sour, her interest minimal, and her focus away from Emily Fitch's crooked fringe that stupidly made her hands nervous with sweat at the thought of brushing it from her eyes. And then it had happened. Naomi turned in her chair as the pub door swung open and in breezed Effy, practically materializing into the room, as was her way. As Naomi turned, her leg shifted making contact with Emily. Naomi felt her face flush at the thought, the breeze cool against her face as they walked.

"Sorry, am I boring you?" Emily asked. Heat rose up Naomi's neck into her cheeks when she felt Emily's eyes on her.

"No, I was just -" Naomi said the first thing that popped into her head that wasn't about Emily's eyes or fringe or kneecaps "- thinking about our politics assignment on the rise of Parliament in early 14th century."

"Well, I had no idea it was this severe," Emily mused.

"What? What's severe?"

"The negative effect your passion for academics is having on your social interactions." Emily giggled as Naomi shoved her hips against Emily's side, nearly causing her to collide with a couple of oncoming pedestrians.

"Sorry! Sorry!" The girls both laughed in unison to the couple as they walked past, Naomi grabbing onto Emily's arm and pulling her back onto the right side of the walk.

"Thanks a lot!" Emily laughed, shrugging off Naomi's hold on her and elbowing Naomi's arm. "Making me accost strangers, you twat."

"Hey, it's not my fault you were the runt of the litter."

Emily's jaw dropped as she feigned taking offense, but truthfully she could have hung out with _this_Naomi all night. When they approached the street corner where Emily knew the night would have to end, she slowed her step and felt a tug of sadness in her chest. Because that was always the problem with Naomi, wasn't it? One minute it was laughter and flirting and sideways glances, the next it was cold shoulders and disgusted scowls, each making Emily absolutely mad in varied degrees. Sometimes she felt like Naomi could switch personalities with the changing winds or the turn of a clock.

"I live down here," Emily said coming to a stop and turning towards Naomi. They stood under a corner street lamp, the yellowing light making the blonde of Naomi's hair look glowy and soft. She watched as Naomi careened her neck to look down the lane towards the Fitch residence.

"Right, well, I'll see you tomorrow then." Naomi looked at her, smiled very slightly, then spun on the balls of her feet and stepped off the walk.

Emily panicked then, not wanting it all to be over all over again. Like every time she felt them taking small steps towards each other, the next day they felt miles apart. "Or -" Emily said, a little more desperate than she'd hoped. But Naomi turned then, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

"Or?"

"Or I could walk you? To yours?"

"No," she said quickly shaking her head. "it's not far. Besides, Em, no bouquets of flowers, remember?"

Emily felt her cheeks flush but didn't have a chance to argue further as Naomi turned away from her again and took a few steps before shouting back over her shoulder, "And chivalry, by the way, is the death of feminism!"

Emily smiled, unable to tear her eyes away from Naomi walking farther down the street, until the dim yellow light no longer reached her. And not until she could no longer see the bright blues and pinks of Naomi's jacket, did Emily turn and head home.

* * *

Emily waited all hour. She bit down on her thumbnail, tapped the rubber tip of her pencil against the table, crossed and uncrossed her legs. Josie sing-songed in her squeaky voice on the further plot development in Hamlet, but Emily hadn't done the reading. Hadn't even pulled the book from her bag to make an attempt. Instead, she had laid in bed staring at the glow of street lamps outside her bedroom window. In the dark, Katie's breathing was heavy and Emily knew her sister had been asleep for hours, but her mind was racing, looping the events of her evening with Naomi and making her dizzy. She couldn't control the smile that formed against her pillow at the memory of every flirtatious touch, every time she'd made Naomi laugh, every look they'd shared and the hint of pink she had noticed in Naomi's cheeks. But today, in the waning minutes of English period, there was nothing. Yesterday, Naomi was brilliant, all smiles and coy glances, as she commanded the entire class with her take on Hamlet. And when she'd rested her chin in her hand and gone on with the bit about soliloquizing, Emily thought she might never recover.

_Please stop looking at me, please stop looking at me._Naomi felt the heat crawling up her neck again when she knew Emily's eyes were on her. But they weren't alone on a nearly deserted street. And they weren't three pints deep on shitty pub ale. And Naomi felt very exposed, sitting there amidst her classmates with Emily across from her, pleading with the glint of hope and possibility in her eyes. Naomi scowled and huffed, not because she hated Emily, but because she hated that Emily could always lay everything bare. Open herself up to let Naomi see all the cracks and imperfections and always make Naomi want to do the same. She has already given little parts of herself to Emily when they were alone, which was terrifying enough. But it was not safe here and the air was not clear, it was constricting. She touched her collarbone where her chest felt weighted, and she did not like how being in the proximity of Emily Fitch always made her feel everything all at once. So Naomi kept her eyes downward, tracing the letters on her book cover with her finger.

When the bell chimed, fifteen chairs scraped across the tile flooring simultaneously even though Josie, still in the middle of a rant, beckoned them to never stop dreaming or searching or some such shit that Emily blocked out as she gathered her things, scanning the room for that blonde head already making its way to the exit. When she reached the hallway, Katie was already barking orders.

"Emily! Let's go! Jesus Christ, you are the _slowest_person I've ever fucking known!"

Emily looked one way down the hall towards Katie, the other direction towards Naomi, who was quickly disappearing in a sea of Roundview midday chaos. "Yeah, coming. Just - I'll be right there," she finally answered but Katie had already walked off trying to catch up with Effy.

"Hey!" she called out when Naomi was only a few steps ahead of her.

Naomi cringed, her back to the scratchy voice who had called out. And despite her real desire to keep walking farther and at a rapid pace, she stopped, turned, exhaled. "Hey."

"Didn't think I was going to make it through that one," Emily started, nodding her head back towards the English room.

"Right, " Naomi nodded. "Look, I've really got to go. I'm sorry."

"Oh. Sure. Well, be careful not to walk so fast you run square into Katie's tits," Emily laughed nervously trying to return to their banter from the night prior.

"_Jesus_- would you mind not yelling tits at me in the middle of the fucking corridor!" Naomi's tone was harsh as she took a step closer, and Emily flinched. Naomi's tense shoulders and fists softened when she saw the look on Emily's face, immediately feeling guilty for lashing out. "I've got to go. I'll see you."

"Right. See you," Emily echoed quietly and watched as Naomi rushed off into a crowd of students. She leaned against the glass barrier that ran along that section of the corridor and turned her head towards the windows that overlooked the courtyard. Students spread along the lawns, her sister probably down there somewhere making Effy's ear raw from all her incessant chattering. Then Emily look upward to the tops of the trees and watched as the wind changed.


	2. Chapter 2: 3x06 part 1

**Author's Note:** It is with great trepidation and utmost reverence that I even dare to publish this next bit. That's right kids, we're treading ever-so-lightly into Jack Thorne territory as this next installment takes place within Naomi's episode 3x06. I've decided I'm not writing these sequentially just as they pop into my creative subconscious so I hope you don't mind a little ping-ponging around Series 3. So this next bit is just one area of 3x06 I've always wanted to see, but I image there will be many more. I'm not going to insult your intelligence (addiction) and point out where within Naomi's episode this falls because if you haven't already watched the ep 900 times then I DON'T WANT TO KNOW YOU. There, now I've said it. Now you know.

** I do not write nor have any affiliation with Skins because if I did I'd be in front of the mirror all day telling myself how fucking brilliant I am.

The air was light and breezy and the sun warmed her back as Naomi pedaled away from her yellow house. The warm air of the early morning felt good on her face, and for a moment, she felt like she might be all right. But when she remembered what she'd left in her bed, curled against her mussed bed linens and red hair strewn across her pillow, the flush of heat returned to Naomi's face and the breeze had no effect. She knew that she and Emily were friends at this point, had accepted that fact over the course of the last few weeks. Though it was the scope of that friendship of which she felt unclear. And Naomi wasn't accustomed to that feeling of uncertainty that can dig its way to the pit of your stomach. Naomi was smart, too smart for her own good, her mother would probably tell you. And she felt self-assured and purposeful in her pursuit of academic excellence. It was in making friends where she'd always struggled, though that had never been made much of a priority either. Particularly friends that were girls. Particularly friends that were girls with petite noses, long eyelashes, and infectious laughter.

_"But I also like just being with you,"_Emily had said as she stood defiantly in the doorway of Naomi's bedroom.

And was that the moment that changed her mind about asking Emily to stay? Or was it the second she burst back in, a look of indignation spread across her perfectly lovely face? Naomi pedaled and couldn't remember. She'd always had trouble remembering how exactly her and Emily kept crashing into one another. She only knew that it kept happening, that the pace was quickening, and that her desire to stop it from happening was weakening.

* * *

The sound of a lawnmower whirring in the distance woke her, and before she even fully opened her eyes, Emily knew she was not in her bed. Naomi's scent lingered on her pillow and a small smile crept across Emily's lips as she considered never leaving this spot. She rolled over onto her back and took in the details of Naomi's room. The orange window sheer, the mismatched bed linens. Her fingers touched lightly on the tiny paper lanterns draped along the headboard. She lay still for a moment, straining to hear a running shower or the pitch of Naomi's voice, but the house was eerily quiet. _She's left_, Emily thought. For a quick second, Emily allowed herself to blame her own persistence, to feel guilty at intruding on Naomi Campbell's sacred space. But then, Emily was more perceptive than that, and she shook those feelings of guilt from her head. Instead she let her mind wander to the look of embarrassment on Naomi's face as she laughed her way through asking the question. _The_ question. She thought about the taste of citrus from Naomi's lipgloss as the vodka bottle passed between them and how, a moment later, she had paused and _seriously_ considered falling directly onto Naomi's lips.

Reluctantly, Emily rose from the bed, pulled her blue and white pinstriped cotton dress over her head, and walked over to a small desk. The surface was filled with messy stacks of books, none of which Emily recognized as part of their curriculum, and the thought of Naomi pouring over books on which she would never be tested, made her smile widen. Beside one stack of books sat a small pad of yellow paper. Emily leaned against the desk and looked down at the bed for another moment. _You slept in her bed. You slept in your knickers in her bed_, she told herself over and over even though nothing actually made it feel more real. She turned then, scribbled something onto a piece of the yellow paper, tore it from the stack and laid it gently onto Naomi's bed.

Emily crept quietly down the staircase, a little unnerved by the transformation of the crowded and chaotic house she'd entered just 12 hours earlier. She was nearly to the front door when a voice behind her made her skin jump.

"Hello, dear!"

Emily turned to see a woman with blonde, cropped hair and a bright face standing in the entryway, drying her hands on a tea towel.

"Hello," Emily said quietly raising her hand in a small, awkward wave.

"I don't think we've met yet - I'm Gina," she extended her hand to Emily.

"I'm Emily. Fitch," she finished, taking Gina's hand which was warm and immediately put any nerves jumping about in Emily's chest at ease.

"I just put the kettle on. Can I offer you a cuppa?"

"Sure. That'd be lovely," Emily answered. She pushed herself away from the door, which she hadn't noticed she had been leaning against, and followed Gina into the kitchen.

The room was bright with morning sun and completely disorganized, no hint of an interior decorator. A wooden cutting board hung haphazardly on one wall, embroidered poetry and protest posters on another. It felt lived in, and Emily immediately relaxed when she sat at the butcher block table and wondered how gobsmacked Naomi would be to know she was sitting at her kitchen table. With her mother.

"You're a friend from college then?" Gina asked as she brought the tea to the table.

"Yes," Emily nodded. "Naomi and I are in the same form."

Gina's eyes sparkled, the corners of her eyes creasing when she smiled down at Emily. "My daughter is as closed-off as she is temperamental so I won't pretend that I had any idea she had friends at all, let alone you, Emily Fitch."

"Oh, well, we're … just newly friends, I guess." And Emily stumbled over her words a bit because she was unsure of how much truth they held. Hadn't she just chased Naomi off the party boat and pleaded with her not to leave as they stood beside the harbor? Had they been friends before? No, surely Naomi had hated her up until that point, and Emily was still unclear what had changed. Why she had ever been allowed to kiss her at a silly pyjama party or fall asleep in her bed to the sounds of Naomi's soft breaths against the pillow. Emily felt a slight rush of blood to her cheeks when she realized Gina was still smiling at her while Emily had allowed her thoughts to trail off for fuck knows how long. "Temperamental, though. More like maniacally unpredictable," Emily said slowly, offering Gina the tiniest of smiles.

Gina's laughter cracked through the kitchen. "I think she came out the womb a right moody git! Always crying for lightening in the middle of a cloudless day."

Emily shared a light laugh with Naomi's mother and sipped her tea.

"Well, I'm happy in spite of all her perpetual scowling she's managed to make at least one friend," Gina sighed.

"Oh no, Naomi's got loads of friends!" Emily corrected. "Well, a good handful anyway. College is hard for her, I think," Emily continued, looking down at the table. "She's so determined, so smart … I think sometimes she's so concentrated on what she wants, she doesn't think she has room to let anyone else in. Besides, she not _always_cross. Sometimes she smiles and … she looks quite beautiful."

The words had tumbled out of her mouth of their own volition and Emily winced when she realized they were now hanging over the table. Why was she opening up to Naomi's mother of all people? If there was one way to keep Naomi from talking to her for the rest of her life, this was probably it.

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you that Naomi tells me shite about her life where I don't pry and even less where I do. But let me tell you something I do know about my daughter. When she was still a wee, blonde, wispy little thing we were living on some fuck-all commune in the farm country of Scotland. Naomi kept to herself even then, needing very little interaction from the other children or even from me." Gina ran her index finger along the rim of her teacup as she spoke. "When I took her into town one afternoon we walked past a dance studio and I saw it then. Her eyes lit up like little sparkling crystals when she saw those girls twirling and dipping and posing. So, I grabbed her hand and pulled her inside. She fought me, she did. Cursed me for making her come inside to see everything up close. Cursed me ever louder when I introduced her to the instructor," Gina sighed at the memory. "But she danced for four years after that. Couldn't get that girl out of tutu without her kicking and screaming. She's strong and stubborn as a bucking mule, and she'll never let herself be pushed into anything." Gina's kind eyes settled on Emily. "But when there's something she doesn't think she can have, no matter how badly she might want it, she'll allow herself to be pushed. Just a wee bit."

The hot tea and the beaming sun and the sound of Gina's voice, made Emily's face feel warm. She knew Gina had been referring to Naomi making friends at college. That no matter how much disinterest she might put off, somewhere deep down, Naomi really believed she deserved proper mates. More than that, she really _wanted_ friends. And of course that's what Gina had meant because she couldn't possibly know how Emily daydreamed of soft, yellowy hair, searing blue eyes, and perfectly parted lips that tasted of citrus. But when Gina rose from her chair and lightly patted Emily's hand with her own, Emily knew that it wouldn't matter even if she did.


	3. Chapter 3: 3x01 part 1

**Author's Note: **Meet Naomi Campbell. She's an angry wee lass with a big attitude. But, why? Why so cross, Naomi? Oh, that's right. You hate injustice and people TELL LIES about you. When I watched 3x01 for the first time (and subsequently the remainder of series 3 in a matter of 2 days), I didn't really like Naomi for all her eye-rolling and dirty looks and what seemed to be general distaste for Emily Fitch. Because, I mean, it took about 90 seconds for me to want to fold up Emily Fitch and keep her in my pocket for all times so that, at will, I could take her out of my pocket and ask her to say things like: _I don't wear pyjamas? _Anyway, I'm getting side-tracked. The point is, after having watched the beginning episodes of series 3 a billion more times (and again this weekend for good measure), I really started thinking about Naomi and her little scowl that she thinks will keep Emily at bay. This started out going in one direction and then totally bucked its head on me and went another place entirely. Back in time, if you will. I hope you enjoy it just the same. And speaking of which, the reviews are top notch and very much appreciated so please, please keep them coming. I need positive reinforcement, dammit!

** I have about as much affiliation with Skins as Effy Stonem has with smoking cessation.

** A second note about the Emily flashback. All references to Naomi and Emily's first kiss (that sparked all that lovely, lovely angst we get to see in 3x01) are straight out of heather hogan's Valentine's Day ficlet she wrote last year, and well, I know I'm not the only person who considers it canon at this point because it's fooking brilliant. If, by some stroke of bad luck, you haven't read it, let me know and I'll send you the link.

* * *

Naomi wound strands of bright blonde around her fingers, reached for the barrette she had been holding between her teeth, and clipped the braid along the side of her head. She placed her hands on the green porcelain of her sink and exhaled at her own reflection, contorting her mouth in a way that said she'd never really be satisfied. She pulled three bulky necklaces off a hook beside the mirror and slipped them over her head. When she heard a loud bang and the sound of squealing children, she cut her eyes angrily towards her closed bedroom door.

"Would you quite mind _fucking off_then?" she yelled over her shoulder and the noise quieted momentarily.

Naomi stalked across her room, pulled on a floral print jacket her mother had worn during their years in Scotland, slung an over-sized bag onto her shoulder and stepped into the hall. There were two small children in nothing but knickers with jam smeared on their faces, bouncing marbles on the wood floor in front of the staircase. A woman with long wavy hair sat rocking an infant in another bedroom down the hall, her breast exposed as she hummed lightly. "Jesus Christ," Naomi muttered and, stepping over the children with their marbles, clomped her way downstairs.

"Oh, lovely! You're awake!" Naomi's mother breezed through a curtain of wooden beads that hung in a kitchen doorway and tried to place her hand against her daughter's cheek before Naomi swatted it away. "Ernst just brought in a sack of baguettes - do you want some breakfast?"

"Who the fuck is Ernst?" Naomi frowned.

"Oh, he's that tall chap who just came in from Netherlands. He toured through France a bit before -"

"I don't care, mum," Naomi cut in. "And I don't want any baguette. Can you just drop me off at school already?"

Naomi's mother made a face she couldn't decipher.

"What? What is it_ now_, mum?" Naomi demanded.

"I'm afraid I let that rather chatty bloak with the missing teeth take the car out to the market yesterday, and he's yet to turn 'round with it again."

"Would you just listen to yourself! Fuck's sake! How exactly were you planning on getting me to college then? First day? Ringing any bells, or what?"

"Well, I thought you could take that old bicycle we keep in the garden," Gina offered. "Some fresh air to waken your senses, clear your head, and -"

"Oh, sod off, mum," Naomi grumbled as she turned and left the kitchen.

The back garden was the one spot left in Naomi's home that still held any solitude. Hadn't been overrun by screaming children, suckling infants or pungent drifters who would nick your automobile. Naomi unlatched the wooden gate and started across the lawn, the wet grass from morning dew making the soles of her shoes squeak as she walked. The bicycle was in the far corner, leaning against an old, stone bench. Naomi sighed, pulled out a fag from the pack and slumped down on the bench as she snapped her lighter and took a drag. She was resistant to move, knowing the only place left to go after she left the safety of the back garden was Roundview. She thought about starting her A-levels, being sorted into forms, the bullocks of a subpar curriculum and dodgy professors. She tried thinking on anything other than the one person who always popped into her head on the first day back to school. It had been nearly two years since they'd had a proper conversation, and even still Naomi shuddered when the memory of it came rushing back.

* * *

The creaking wood of Colin Hill's stupid childhood treehouse, the burning in the back of her throat from shitty vodka, and then, without warning, it had been all spearmint, musky perfume and Emily Fitch sliding her soft lips across Naomi's own. There had been terrible months that followed, when it seemed every person in the school hallways was just taking a piss on the lezzer who preyed on her classmates. On some days, she thought it might actually be less humiliating walking through the crowded hallways completely starkers. But with every insult or sideways glance her exterior hardened, her scowl deepened so that not even the biggest and loudest tossers approached her after some time. And eventually, any interest in the rumor that Naomi had snogged another girl had dissipated entirely. Katie Fitch, of course, could always be counted on. Because in spite of everything, Naomi couldn't stop her eyes from trailing after Katie's shadow of a sister as they walked from class to class.

"Stop fucking perving on my sister before I kick your arse all the way back to the fucking twisted lesbian colony where you came from," Katie said with her voice raised, fully intending to gather attention. "She's not interested in your filthy minge, all right?"

Naomi stood against a wall of lockers, her arms folded across her chest and her jaw tightening as she tried to stare directly through Katie Fitch. "Careful, Katie. Seeing you get so worked up is getting me a little ... worked up," she said as her eyes scaled Katie from pumps to push-up bra. "Do ya know what I mean?"

Katie snapped her fingers and Naomi rolled her eyes. "Don't bloody look at me like that, lezzah!"

"Katie, let's just go." The voice was small much like her presence as Emily Fitch shuffled nervously behind her twin.

"Tell her Ems! Tell her you're not fucking interested," Katie insisted.

Naomi let her eyes flicker back to where Emily stood, in her green cap-sleeve blouse that matched her green shoes and tiny green, sodding bow. But Emily looked frighteningly at the back of Katie's head, and didn't dare avert her eyes. She reached out and grabbed the crook of Katie's elbow, pulling her away from Naomi.

"Mum'll be here to get us. Just leave it already, will you?" Emily urged again.

Katie's face broke out in a wicked smile as she backpedaled away, allowing Emily to gently pull her down the hall. Naomi smiled back with just as much spite as she raised her middle finger. It wasn't until the twins were both several paces down the hall that Emily dared look over her shoulder. She met Naomi's gaze, saying apologies with the kind of intensity that did not exist outside of a look from Emily Fitch. Naomi felt her eyes burning but didn't look away. She wanted Emily to know she knew, wanted her to see the hurt that darkened the crystal blue of her eyes. Naomi didn't have to wonder why Emily told the lie. The answer was as transparent as Katie's was brash. And Naomi knew that for Emily, everything always began and ended with Katie. So Naomi didn't push for answers or wait for the apology that would take years for Emily to say. In the next moment, Emily turned again and disappeared through the glass doors.

* * *

Their first class and Katie had already abandoned her for what seemed like a better social opportunity: a girl named Effy Stonem. Emily had a hard time concentrating on anything Kieran, her new politics professor, was saying, and his strange accent had very little to do with it. She'd spent the better part of her summer wondering if this would finally be her year. The year she shed the cloak of Katie's overprotective sister routine. The year she finally became an individual Emily and not just the quieter, less desirable half of Katie and Emily. The year Naomi forgave her for every rotten moment that had happened over the past two years. Emily was sure she'd seen something, the glint of uncertainty in Naomi's eyes during the look they'd shared at assembly. And hadn't Naomi held her her gaze for several seconds longer than was typically socially acceptable? Emily felt a nervous excitement in the palms of her hands at the prospect of making friends with Naomi. Finally putting everything behind them and starting fresh. The teacher was calling on her then and _bugger_ she had barely been paying attention to anything up until she heard Katie bragging about having boyfriends at seven for chrissake. So Emily stood and said the thing that felt like her first decisive step away from Katie.

"Shit happens," had been Kieran's response and Emily almost immediately wished she'd made a different impression on her first college professor.

She didn't have time for much self-loathing, though, because within the next few seconds Naomi stood and shattered whatever false hopes Emily had felt thumping in her chest.

_People tell lies about me. _The words burned in Emily's ears and any other sounds from the classroom washed away. And when Naomi turned to look at her, everything that Emily had been trying to push aside came rushing back.

* * *

Emily begged Katie to leave the party immediately. She felt frantic as she entered the house from the back garden, weaving her way through her drunken classmates and pulled Katie by one arm away from whatever twat she'd been pressed up against. Her sister had screamed obscenely at her, resisting the strong hold of Emily's hand around her wrist all the way to the front door.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, bitch?"

"Please, Katie, can't we just go home? _Please_," Emily pleaded. She didn't wait for Katie's answer, feeling claustrophobic inside the walls of the house, and walked out the front door.

"Emily! Fucking - fucking get back here!" Katie stalked out the door after her sister. "Are you gonna tell me what's bloody going on with you? The party is full swing, I was about 10 minutes away from a decent pull, and you come raging through like some kind of fucking lunatic!"

Katie was right. Emily felt the insanity crawling under her skin and shuddered as it crept to the back of her neck. She shook uncontrollably even though the air felt mild for February.

"I just … want to go home," she finally managed.

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on? Did something happen -" realization struck Katie's face and annoyance turned to rage "Did someone fucking do something to you, Em?"

"No! I just - I mean, just leave it, Katie. _Please_."

"I will castrate - no, I will maime whatever cock has felt you up so that every morning in the shower he's got a mangled reminder of -"

"Katie! No one touched me, no one fucking did anything. I just want to go home." And Emily knew by the strain in her voice and the tightness in her throat that she was close to tears.

Katie relaxed once she was satisfied the need for her to dismember any of her classmates had subsided. "Fine, we'll call a cab."

Emily felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. "Thank you."

"But since I'm the only one with her mobile tonight," Katie had pulled it from her purse and dangled it in front of Emily's face, "I'll dial them up as soon as you tell me who's got you so worked."

Emily knew the look on her sister's face meant she wouldn't win this. But she also knew she couldn't possibly verbalize what had happened. How she'd leaned over, closed the gap between them, and lightly pushed her lips against Naomi's. She couldn't explain how it had happened. She couldn't explain, why now, she felt cold and shaky and unstable on her own two feet. Not to Katie, not to herself, not to anyone. Katie looked on expectantly and Emily felt the shaking in her shoulders resume. And then Katie was making that weird, squealing, exasperated noise that always happened just before she lost her shit entirely.

"Fucking tell me, Emily! You're making me mad!" Emily stayed frozen where she was, her face turned toward the street instead of her sister. "Fine, suit yourself. I'm going back inside." Katie turned and Emily panicked at the sound of Katie's gaudy shoes clicking against the pavement.

"It was Naomi," Emily heard herself say, and the clicking of Katie's shoes stopped.

"Naomi _who_?"

Emily faced her sister now and although she could find so much of herself in Katie - the shape of her eyes, or the slope of her shoulders - she had never felt so vastly different.

"Campbell? "Emily answered but Katie upturned her hands and raised her eyebrows as if to say: _Should I know who the fuck you're talking about?_"She's in our maths class," Emily continued. "Blonde, sort of looks angry most of the time?"

"OK, so what about her? She's being a right cunt to you, or what?"

"No, nothing like that." Emily looked at the ground. "Well, I was talking with her, in the garden, and …" her voice trailed off and before she could continue, Katie was cutting in.

"Holy fucking shit, Ems. Did she fucking snog you? Oh my god! She fucking snogged you!"

"No -" Emily started to protest, started to nip the train of thought she saw forming in Katie's head and then stopped herself because Katie was walking back down the drive towards her, punching numbers into her mobile as she got closer.

"No wonder you've gone fucking mental, chris_sake_." Katie wrapped her arm around Emily in the kind of familial affection that never happened in public and certainly not in the presence of their friends.

Emily felt her stomach churn and a burning sense of nausea rose to her chest and settled in the back of her throat. Katie had rung through to a taxi service and talked quickly while still holding Emily close to her. The ride home was a nauseating blur. Emily kept her eyes closed and her forehead pressed against the window to her right because the glass felt cool and soothing. No sooner had they reached the hallway on the second floor of their house and Emily knew she couldn't contain it any longer. Katie turned left towards their bedroom, but Emily crashed into the loo and just managed to get the door closed behind her before vomit came pouring out of her and into the toilet bowl. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and slumped back on the floor, resting her head against the door. A soft knock came a moment later, but Emily didn't open her eyes.

"You OK, Ems?" Katie's voice was so quiet and concerned it was almost unrecognizable.

Emily sat silent for what felt like hours before clearing her throat and answering, "Yeah." Leading Katie to believe that it had been Naomi who had been responsible for the kiss in the garden had been the first lie she'd ever told her sister. And this was the second.


	4. Chapter 4: 3x08

**Author's Note: **Effy's episode is probably one of my favorites despite that is seems, upon first glance, to be glaringly lacking in the Naomily department. I love Effy. But that shouldn't come as a surprise because everyone loves Effy. Except for Effy. I thought this ep did such a brilliant job at setting up and even, on a lesser scale, revealing a lot of what we see unfold in Series 4 for lil Stonem. Anyway, onto the installment which is all up in 3x08's business. I didn't feel exceptionally inspired by any one moment in this ep so for a minute I thought: _oh shit I've nothing to say_. And then, well, I started writing and vomited Naomily all over the page, not entirely unlike Effy vomits her love for Freddie all over her sneakers. Ew. So glad everyone seems to be digging the premise. All your compliments make me feel all warm and fuzzy like I just ate MDMA cake and snogged Naomi Campbell. I found the last chapter to be so sad and angsty that this chapter is decidedly, well, not.

** Me taking any ownership of Skins is about as plausible as Emily not picturing Naomi Campbell naked 16 times every hour.

* * *

The rain finally broke mid-afternoon but tints of grey and lingering rain drops still hung on everything. A shiver ran up Emily's spine and she tucked her hands inside the cuffs of her jumper as she took to the steps of the front porch. Her hand was poised to knock when she saw movement to her left. She turned to see Gina making exaggerated swings with her arms and hands from the front windows, beckoning Emily indoors. Emily smiled at the thought of Gina always bubbling over in excitement whenever Emily popped round the house and wondered, not for the first time, how surly Naomi Campbell was of any relation.

"Mum, are you having a stroke or something?" Naomi sat slouched in her chair at the butcher block table, legs spread out in front of her and resting on the seat of another chair.

The house had been empty of drifters and wayward travelers for weeks, and Naomi had quite liked taking up as much space as she pleased as often as possible.

"Emily's here!" Gina breezed past Naomi and out of the kitchen to greet Emily at the front door.

"What?" Naomi's mouth was half full of toast as she answered, bolting up straight in her chair.

When Emily entered the kitchen, Naomi was still brushing stray crumbs from her mouth and tucking messy strands of hair behind her ears.

"Hey."

"Hey." Naomi tried not to register the way her pulse quickened when Emily looked at her. Or spoke to her. Or stood within ten metres of her. Emily's hair looked damp with rain and her lip quivered a bit, no doubt from the chill outside. And because her first instinct was to rush Emily upstairs, strip her naked and throw her into bed, Naomi instead asked with as much disinterest as possible, "What are you doing here?"

"Naomi!" Gina scolded as she followed Emily into the kitchen. "Honestly, your hospitality is for shite. Emily, dear, let me put on the kettle." Gina ran her hands quickly up and down Emily's shoulders before shooting Naomi a warning look and heading out of the room.

Naomi looked back to Emily, a strained and saccharine smile plastered to her face. "So lovely of you to come calling, Emily." But then, as her face dropped to its previously accusatory scowl, she repeated, "So what are you doing here?"

Unfazed, Emily reached down to swipe Naomi's feet off the chair in front of her and plopped down at the table.

"I came to make sure you were packing for Gobbler's End."

"Emily, you already texted me about this an hour ago."

"Yeah, I know."

"And when I responded back saying no fucking thank you?"

"I figured I'd come over and convince you to go." Emily's tone was light and not at all seductive, except that when Naomi locked eyes with her she sensed something else behind the words and had to look away.

"Well, I don't want to go."

Emily smiled, still looking at her, as the corners of Naomi's mouth twitched up just so, despite her desparate attempts to maintain a scowl. The plates had shifted beneath all the layers that comprised them, and Emily knew that the effect of that night at the lake was not one, groundbreaking moment, but would be residual over time. She could feel it in the smallest of moments. A surface shudder when Naomi would take chips from Emily's school lunch without asking. The slightest ground shift as they erupted into fits of laughter over a shit English paper Emily had written. A tremor, barely registered, at the soft touches to Emily's hands or arms when Naomi thought no one would notice. Tilt. Shift. Regain footing. And so as she sat beside Naomi on a bland and rainy Saturday, the push and pull of their conversation felt more like the subtlest tectonic shift.

"You don't want to go where?" Gina was back in the room, sliding a tray of steaming tea cups and a plate of biscuits onto the table.

Emily immediately reached for a cup of tea and started to warm her hands around the hot porcelain.

"Emily is trying to coerce me into a night of reckless drinking and illicit drug use in the middle of the woods with a bunch of college degenerates."

"Oh, well dear, that sounds more like my summer of 1971. Harmless fun, I'm sure." Gina winked and Emily's smile widened. "Naomi's probably just feeling apprehensive because camping to her sounds more like ages five through six of her childhood."

"I'm _apprehensive_ because Emily's darling sister's idea of proper camping equipment is probably camouflaged stilettos."

"She's got a point," Emily said before Gina could again scold her daughter for being rude. "But, that's why you'll be glad to know that Effy's coming and she's agreed to drive us in her mum's car."

"_And?_" Naomi raised her eyebrows at her.

"And what? You like Effy."

"Yeah, well, I also like Led Zeppelin. Doesn't mean I'm going to follow that lot into the woods and trust to come out alive, does it?"

"Come on, it'll be fun. Besides, I didn't tell Katie I've invited you so you showing up unannounced is going to send her off the rails. You can't pass up that opportunity, can you?"

Naomi sat with it for a minute, breaking her biscuit into tiny pieces until, without warning, she grabbed Emily's wrist and hauled her up from the table. "Fine, but you're helping me pack."

Upstairs in Naomi's room, Emily felt some of her brazen confidence falter as she sat on the edge of the bed and watched Naomi root around in her cupboard. The problem before had been how badly she wanted to kiss Naomi, how desperately she wanted Naomi to want to kiss her back. It had consumed her until, at some point, the words just came tumbling out at will. _I just wanted to kiss you. I want to kiss you now._ There had been a blind fear she'd seen in Naomi, a cautionary distance that Emily knew she couldn't break. Approaching Naomi had always been a bit like navigating a mine field. Careful steps, reassuring glances. Until the afternoon they stood face to face, and Emily could see something in Naomi that looked less like paralyzing fear and more like curiosity. Only it was more than that too. Emily knew Naomi wanted her to lean in, could see it in her subtle movements, could sense it in the way Naomi let her eyes linger on her. After the party at Pandora's and, subsequently the night at the lake, the question of Naomi's wants and desires had pretty clearly been sorted. So the issue now was not uncontrollable impulses and the uncertainty of whether they would be requited. Naomi had requited quite nicely, in fact. The problem that Emily now sat with was not knowing how she was meant to act on a daily basis. She hadn't quite figured out how to strike a balance between being Naomi's friend and struggling to keep herself from picturing Naomi naked. During their politics class, for instance. Hypothetically. Emily watched the small of Naomi's back, bare and peeking out just past the hem of her tee shirt, and thought about the soft warmth of Naomi's skin. She hadn't been around Naomi since the lake and _not_ thought about her skin, or her lips, or the sound of her breath catching when Emily had placed her mouth on her that first time. The memory tensed in her stomach and she felt sweat gathering between the palms of her hands and the bed linen.

"Ah!" Naomi spun around, victoriously clutching a duffel over her head, and Emily tried unsuccessfully to will the heat from her cheeks.

Naomi cocked an eyebrow and threw the bag at her. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Emily shrugged.

"Well, make yourself useful then." Naomi nodded to the bag before opening random drawers of her bureau.

Emily was fiddling with the zipper on the bag when something hit her in the face. "Hey!" She grabbed at the article of clothing and held it out accusingly.

"What?" Naomi was laughing. "Shirt. Bag." She mimed placing the shirt in the duffel and ignored the dirty look Emily shot her.

The clothing had piled up a bit around Emily on the bed (though Naomi had managed to stop hitting her in the head) as she carefully folded and placed each item into the canvas bag.

"Exactly how long did you expect the trip to last?" she finally asked looking up at Naomi.

"Oh, piss off. I have every reason to believe that we could _easily_ get stranded for days." Naomi looked at the clothes surrounding Emily, changed her mind about something, and walked towards the bed.

She reached for something, leaning across Emily as she did so, and Emily's hand moved so seamlessly to touch Naomi's side, Emily wasn't even sure she had done so consciously. Naomi froze at the touch and Emily breathed in the cotton and nicotine on her tee shirt.

"What are you doing?" Naomi's voice was barely audible and she didn't jerk away from the touch.

"I ... don't know." But even as Emily answered her hand was moving again, sliding under the bottom of the tee shirt and tracing her fingers on warm skin.

Emily looked up, tugged gently at Naomi's shirt until Naomi leaned into her slightly, bracing her hand against Emily's shoulder when Emily put her mouth along the side of her neck and breathed out three, achingly slow kisses. The duffel still sat open on Emily's lap, separating them, but when Emily reached up and slid her teeth down her earlobe, Naomi grabbed the bag and sent it flying across the room. She moved onto the bed then placing one knee on either side of Emily and grabbing clumsily to pull the jumper over Emily's head. Emily scooted back on the bed, free of her bulky overshirt, and pulled Naomi on top of her by the sides of her tee shirt. Naomi ran handfuls of bright red through her fingers as her mouth collided with Emily's. Emily ran her hands under Naomi's shirt, her fingers tracing their way up to her shoulder blades and back down. Naomi kissed heavily and urgently with a kind of desparation she often thought would never be satiated where Emily was concerned. Tiny, desperate groans escaped from Emily as Naomi slid her tongue along the surface of Emily's, and Naomi felt sure she hadn't been the only one wanting this since the minute Emily walked into the house.

When Emily broke away from Naomi's mouth her voice was rough, "Fucking take this off." She pulled at Naomi's shirt urgently.

As Naomi rolled onto her side and slipped out of her tee shirt, Emily was tossing hers off as well, her chest flushed pink right down to the cups of her black satin bra, which cut and held Emily's breasts in a way Naomi had never before seen. Naomi realized she must have been staring when she saw a look of uncertainty settle across Emily's face.

"What?"

"Nothing." Naomi shook her head, clearing her throat, and steadying her breath a bit. "That's, um, nice."

"Shut up," Emily rolled her eyes.

"I'm _serious_!" Naomi said, though she couldn't stop herself from giggling.

Her laughter slowed as Emily pressed her right shoulder back to the bed and easily moved on top of her. She leaned down and kissed the jaw line just below Naomi's ear and the sensation caused her lungs to empty of air rather audibly. Naomi placed rather shaky hands on Emily's slender hips and tightened her grip. Emily slid the backs of her fingers down the length of Naomi's side, looking down at her as Naomi clenched shut her eyes and bit her bottom lip. When Emily's fingers slipped under the waistband of Naomi's pyjamas and slid their way to the spot just below her naval, Naomi reached with both hands to grab the front pockets of Emily's denim, pulled violently downward, and exhaled a slow "_fuck_" before Emily's mouth was on hers again.

When the door clicked open and Gina's cheery voice cut through the room, two things occurred simultaneously.

1) Emily leapt off of Naomi so quickly her head cracked against a rung of the headboard,

and 2) Gina let fly every expletive in the handbook (and a few Naomi had never even heard before) before slamming the door closed again, leaving the girls alone with the sounds of their breathing.

"Oh. My. God," Naomi finally said, bringing her hands up to cover her face. "Oh my god. Oh my _fucking_ _god_!"

"Well, that was sort of the effect I was hoping to have, but I didn't really seeing it playing out quite like that."

Naomi dropped her hands from her face and craned her neck to look back at Emily who was leaned up against the pillows at the farthest corner of the bed and rubbing the back of her head. They made eye contact and immediately broke down into hysterics.

A half an hour later they had both crawled under the covers and lay facing each other, Emily tracing her fingers along the back of Naomi's hand that lay between them.

"I can never look at your mum ever again. _Ever_," Emily reiterated and closed her eyes tightly at the thought of it.

"You? I have to _live_ with her! Do you suppose I can avoid her until I leave for uni?"

"Seems plausible."

"This camping trip is going to be rubbish, isn't it?" Naomi moved her hand on top of Emily's and laced their fingers together.

"Probably."

"Remind me again why we're going?"

Emily tried not to linger on it. Tried not to give it more weight than it warranted. But hearing Naomi group them as a pairing, as a unit, as a "_we,_" made her breath stutter for just a moment before she responded.

"Well, _I'm_ going because I actually think it could be fun, and _you're_ going because apparently you can't say no to my tits in this black bra."

"That's not -" Naomi started to argue, but stopped short when she caught Emily's flirtatious smirk as she lifted the covers quickly, and was unable to recover without her face turning shades of pink that matched her duvet.

"Besides," Emily continued, "the entire fucking city of Bristol is rubbish, and we spend enough time getting pissed at the clubs every weekend confirming that, so we may as well test the theory out in nature."

"The theory being that Bristol is rubbish?" Naomi confirmed.

"Precisely. You can think of it as applying the principles of the scientific method to your real life."

"You're taking a piss." Naomi responded dryly, finally looking back up to Emily and eyeing her carefully.

"Sorry?"

"Because I'm acing my A-levels and happen to have a passion for higher education you think the mention of scientific method is going to make some stupid camping trip sound more appealing."

"I don't know what you're talking about." But Emily could barely stifle her laughter as Naomi narrowed her eyes and flicked her hand away.

Emily glanced up at the window above her head, then reached into her jeans pocket for her mobile. Naomi had rolled onto her her back and was staring at the ceiling when Emily slipped from underneath the covers and stood up. She had circled around the the other side of the bed, looking at the floor for her shirt and jumper before Naomi rolled over to watch her.

"What are you doing?"

"I've got to run home to meet Katie and grab my stuff and _you_," Emily looked over at the holdall flung wide open and clothes covering the floor, "have got to pack."

"But, you're meant to help!"

"I _did_ help. Not my fault you carelessly tossed the whole lot onto the floor, ruining my perfectly organized system."

"Technically, that was actually your fault."

Emily enjoyed a moment of satisfaction at the effect she seemed to have on Naomi before answering, "Regardless, I'm still leaving you to fend for yourself." She pulled her tee shirt over her head and tried to smooth some of the tangles from her mess of red hair.

Naomi sighed and Emily wasn't sure if it was the notion of packing or the fact Naomi no longer had a good view to perve on her tits that had caused it. Emily leaned her bum against the bed as she slipped on one shoe and then the next, and looked over at Naomi. Her hair was mussed, her cheeks looked rosy, and her eyes were the color of a sky caught between storm clouds and afternoon sun. Naomi was easily the most indescribably beautiful girl she'd ever seen. Emily thought about kissing her again, but the uncertainty that often hung over them reminded Emily that she still hadn't figured out how to navigate this new territory. She thought about how two nights ago, Naomi had drunkenly pulled her into a stall in the toilets at the club and snogged her for twenty straight minutes. She thought about the week after the lake when Naomi rang her for coffee, only to sit awkwardly running her finger along the rim of her cappuccino, barely able to make conversation. It seemed silly, considering the position they'd found themselves in less than an hour ago, all hot breaths and roaming fingers. But the apprehension was still there, and still a very real part of the delicate balance she kept with Naomi.

"So, we'll swing back around to pick you up in an hour or so, yeah?"

"Sure."

Emily pushed herself off the edge of the bed and, jumper in hand, headed for the bedroom door.

"Oh, shit!" Emily paused with her hand on the door handle and looked back at Naomi.

"What?" Naomi propped herself up on her elbows, a look of worry crossing her face.

"Your _mum_."

"Oh. Right. Shit. Well, all right, give it to me then."

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, let's see it. Give me your best 'I-did-not-just-try-to-shag-your-daughter' face."

"Oh yeah, you're well useful, aren't you?" Emily tried to look annoyed, but Naomi collapsed in laughter onto her pillow.

With a deep breath, Emily cracked open the bedroom door and leaned her head tentatively into the hallway. The house was deafeningly quiet, but her pulse quickened as she stepped outside of the safety of the bedroom.

"Good luck!" Naomi whispered.

Emily narrowed her eyes and flipped her off before closing the door to Naomi's laughter and braving the path towards the front door.

* * *

When her mobile buzzed loudly against the wood surface of the desk, Naomi jumped up in bed and shook her head, not sure how long she'd stayed lying there after Emily left. She moved from under the covers, walking to the desk in her thin cottom pyjamas and bra. Naomi answered the call from Effy and returned to bed.

"Hello?"

The line was quiet except for three quick snapping sounds Naomi recognised as the flicks of a lighter.

"Eff?"

"Hey," Effy answered as she exhaled smoke into the receiver.

"What's up?"

"Going into the woods then?"

Naomi exhaled, eyeing her bag still on the floor where she'd flung it, and ran her fingers through her hair. "It would seem so."

Effy's tone was always so understated, so leveled it almost always sounded disinterested. But today Effy's voice had sounded even more distant, even more detatched until she asked, "What are you doing right now?"

"Um, nothing?" Naomi never knew what to expect from Effy, but the change in her tone had been distinct.

"What were you doing before I called?"

"Fucking similarly, I was doing nothing. What are you getting at?"

"How did you find out about the party tonight?"

"Are you planning to respond in questions only?"

"Are you not going to answer?"

"Did you talk to Freddie yet? Tell him want to have a relationship with his lips?" Naomi challenged.

"Actually, I just - left his shed."

"Oh. Shit. _And_?"

"And then I vomited outside his house."

"Christ!"

"On my shoes."

"Eff, _Jesus_ - what the fuck?"

"Are you going to tell me about Emily then?"

"What about her?" Naomi responded, trying in equal measure to stop a smile from forming and maintain a tone of nonchalance.

"Fuck's sake, Naomi, it's worse than you let on. Are you even wearing any clothes right now?"

"Yes! Mostly."

Effy cackled her raspy laugh and Naomi heard another snap of her lighter as Effy lit up another fag.

"You could do worse," she finally said, the laughter gone from her voice.

"Sure about that?" Naomi asked.

"Yeah." The line was quiet for several beats before Effy spoke again, that distant and unreadable tone back in her voice. "You could do nothing."

* * *

Naomi sat with her belongings on the front porch, her arms folded into her stomach, and leaned down on her knees. The temperature had warmed, but with the sun unable to break through all the grey and damp, a chill still settled down her arms. When a grey estate car slowed to the curb, Naomi first noticed red. But she also noticed her complete lack of self-doubt or apprehension as she pushed off the steps and headed towards the car. She wasn't just heading off to Gobbler's End with seven of her mates for some bullocks camping trip. Naomi found that she was actually relieved and excited by the inclusion. She wasn't quite sure when she had gone from sulky and unapproachable to a girl with the kind of friends who took weekend camping trips. But as she opened the door to the backseat and looked down at Emily in her yellow jumper, all cheeky smiles and mischievous brown eyes, she couldn't help but think that Emily was at least partially to blame.

"Is this a joke?" Naomi questioned, eyeing the car already crammed full of bags and arms and legs.

"What's the issue?" Katie, in the front beside Effy, had turned in her seat to give Naomi the full brunt of her annoyed expression.

"Where exactly am I supposed to fit my bag?"

"Well it's not like we planned on an eighth person showing up unannounced, did we?"

Naomi opened her mouth to respond when Katie's eyes cut accusingly to Emily.

"Fuck off, Katie." The cheery tone in Emily's voice didn't match her sentiment, but she smiled when she looked back to Naomi and said, "There's plenty of room."

The space left on the seat beside Emily was barely wide enough for a small child, but Naomi smiled back just the same.

"Yeah sure - just throw your shit in the back with with these wankers," Freddie offered and easily reached his lanky arm behind Pandora and Emily's heads to grab hold of Naomi's holdall. When he tossed it towards the back, it landed on JJ with a thud. "There, see? Sorted."

"Whatever," Katie huffed. "Let's just fucking go already."

Naomi climbed in and when she latched the door shut behind her, Emily's arm cradled into her side, her head just inches from Naomi's shoulder. They shared a look and Naomi felt every bit as warm as she had lying across from Emily just hours ago, tucked up under the blankets. When Naomi looked away, she caught Effy's charcoaled eyes in the rear view mirror and swore she saw the slightest glint of approval.

* * *

Naomi had seen Emily's stoned face after sharing too many spliffs with Freddie. She had seen Emily's drunk face - both the happy, sloppy, too-much-vodka one and the darker, messier version after lots of tequila. She had seen Emily be daring on MDMA. But she had never seen Emily take mushrooms. And she had never considered that the smile and the spark behind her eyes that Naomi already adored in a way that made her chest hurt, would somehow get brighter and purer and more fucking adorable. But then, this was Emily Fitch after all.

And so it was only a matter of time before they found themselves outside the circle of tents, the bonfire still flickering orange light across Emily's face but its warmth out of reach. She was leaned against a tree trunk as Naomi pushed her hands against Emily's stomach, holding her in place.

"It's cold over here," Emily said with a shudder in her voice, though she was smiling her ridiculous and irresistible fucking smile, melting everything within a five kilometre radius.

"Is it?" Naomi felt Emily's warm breath as she hovered just inches away from her lips.

Naomi leaned in, felt her lips fall soft against Emily's, and moved her hands around to the small of Emily's back. Emily pulled lightly on the sides of Naomi's jacket as they kissed until their bodies fell against each other so gently, Naomi thought the sensation of it might collapse her at the knees. Emily moved her mouth against Naomi's with a delicacy that contrasted the urgency she'd felt in their kisses earlier that afternoon. But the aching Naomi felt to take Emily, to have all of her - for the rest of the night, yes, but maybe even longer - returned just the same. Naomi felt alive, her skin buzzing, her senses piqued, her lips on fire against the chilled forest air. When she pulled back, Emily slipped her arms under Naomi's jacket and wrapped them around her back, laying her head on Naomi's shoulder. They stayed wrapped up in each other for longer than Naomi had ever allowed an embrace to last. Naomi concentrated on keeping still, aware that any movement could cause Emily to shift away from her. Feeling Emily against her kept Naomi's breathing steady, kept her fear of proximity and attachment somewhere in the distance and out of focus. The stirring and excitement of the drugs settled into a warming calm as they stood, and in the silence Naomi tried to remember why she spent so much energy to keep Emily away.

"It's quiet," Emily finally said, her voice muffled against the fabric of Naomi's jacket.

"Yeah."

Naomi looked back towards the gathering of tents and the crackling fire but made no effort to move.

"Guess we should go back?"

"Right," Naomi answered as Emily looked up at her. "Don't want Katie unleashing the hounds on me for carting you off alone."

"No, wouldn't want that. I prefer you with all your limbs intact," Emily answered.

Emily moved her arms from inside the warmth of Naomi's jacket and laced her fingers with Naomi's left hand as they moved back towards the campfire. Naomi felt languid and almost sleepy. They paused just outside the opening to the tent they would share, and Emily lightly squeezed Naomi's hand, smiled up at her. A night chill rushed in as soon as Emily's hand slipped from Naomi's and headed towards the others, and Naomi knew that feeling safe with Emily would always only be a portion of what it meant to be with her. Letting a wave of doubt that always crept in in Emily's absence crash over her, Naomi stood still and watched her walk away, silhouetted against the glow of the fire.

_That's what it's all about isn't it, forget about all that other shit. It's not about that, it's about everything else. Like when you open your eyes at night and you see that face. You can't breathe because you're that happy._

* * *

**Author's Note #2:** A couple things: I really LOVE Naomi and Effy. The scene they share in JJ's episode just outside the club is one of my _absolute_ favorites, bar none. It's a shame we didn't get to see more of it in the series, frankly, because in my head there are some real paralells between these two, between their internal struggles. So I hope the phone conversation does that justice. And, yes, there will be more Naomi + Effy lovely bonding moments to come. And also, the quote at the end is Emily's voiceover from the episode as she stands over Pandora, Effy, Freddie and Katie and watches as Freddie and Effy hold hands. It's just too lovely not to include.


	5. Chapter 5: 3x01 part 2 & 3x02

**Author's Note: **Well, kids, we're back. So very pleased everyone enjoyed the last chapter. I do love a good Naomily snog. In this bit we're going all the way back to 3x01 and 3x02 because here is something that always struck me. In the beginning of the series, before it was really clear to what extent Naomi would be involved with the other characters - even though she was clearly undressing Emily with her eyes from day one - she just keeps popping up without explanation. But to me, the answer is rather obvious: Effy fucking Stonem. Of course she was behind it. So this chapter is pretty heavy on the Neffy (or is it Effomi?) because, as I've said, I just love that relationship, even if it never got properly explored. And, let's be honest, Effy was totally a Naomily shipper from day one so it's only right to give her props.

** I don't own Skins but if I did I would buy it a pretty bouquet of flowers every day.

* * *

With the determination and affront of someone who wasn't to be fucked with, Naomi pushed through the front doors of Roundview and stalked towards the rack where she'd latched her bicycle. She leaned down to fiddle the lock combination and when she stood back up a frail-looking girl, all dark colors and smoky eyes, was sat along the half stone wall behind the bike rack. The two girls made eye contact as the brunette lazily exhaled smoke into the afternoon breeze, and Naomi recognized her as the girl she'd seen with the Fitch twins earlier in the day.

"That your ride to school?" the brunette asked with a tone that sounded like she wouldn't care if Naomi answered at all.

"Nope. Just nicking it so I don't have to walk." Naomi tucked the lock into her bag and moved the bike away from the rack.

The girl grinned, unaffected by Naomi's biting sarcasm. "I'm Effy."

Naomi hesitated, contorting her mouth and considering the girl for another moment. She was in no mood to strike up conversation. It had been a shit day, much as she'd tried to skate through unnoticed. The assembly for starters, _Christ_. The boy with the distasteful tattoo who had somehow managed to charm her in between his fowl language and crude gestures. And then, the look. The intensity from those brown eyes that she'd felt clear across that drafty gymnasium. The brown eyes she'd spent all fucking summer trying to forget. Those brown eyes that could almost make her forget how ugly things had gotten, why sideways glances and whispered rumors had turned Naomi into someone cold and secluded. But Emily would never be more than an arm's length from Katie, and Katie would never let her forget. Naomi's defenses were on edge now as she stared into the steely blue eyes of the girl in front of her. She couldn't shake the feeling that the presence of Effy meant Katie Fitch was somehow still fucking with her.

Effy's eyes were unrelenting and eventually Naomi went against her better judgement and answered her, "Naomi."

"Right. Campbell. The angry supermodel."

"Observant," Naomi answered without trying to hide her annoyance.

Something in the way Effy looked at her then, told Naomi she'd never really know the half of it. Kids continued to spill out of the building as Naomi stood in this weird, muted standoff with the girl called Effy. Naomi could have just fucked off, left the girl to her wall, her fags, and her penetrating blue eyes of darkened intensity. She wasn't looking for mates to chum around with on the green between classes. She'd never felt bothered to make connections with her peers. But Naomi lingered for another moment, feeling like something wasn't quite finished between them. It was then that she caught two flashes of red in her peripheral, and the way her stomach dropped must have shown all over her face.

"Friends of yours?" Effy asked.

Naomi watched as Emily and Katie walked to the curb and stood beside a loud yellow sports car. Emily kept her head down as Katie flounced about, showing off some wanker with greasy hair and a pervy smile to the girls who had gathered around. Naomi let her eyes linger on Emily's small frame a moment longer and bit the inside of her cheek at the way Emily clutched her books to her chest, the way her hair had been died just a shade brighter than Katie's in what Naomi wanted to believe was a subtle attempt towards independence. When Naomi looked back at Effy, she hadn't followed Naomi's gaze to the redheaded twins. Effy's eyes were locked with hers, that infuriating smirk still plastered across her face. But she was offering her a fag, so Naomi exhaled and accepted.

"Not hardly. I thought Katie was a friend of yours, actually."

"So does Katie."

Naomi felt the corners of her mouth twitch upwards as Effy held the flame of her lighter to the end of Naomi's fag. In another instant, the voice of that loud, obnoxious boy with the crude tattoo on his cock was bellowing from somewhere nearby. Effy moved like a cat off the wall at the sight of him and looked to Naomi.

"Wanna get out of here?"

* * *

"I don't really drink much," Naomi admitted, already feeling like she was revealing too much of herself to this girl with an unsettling air of mystery.

"Me neither," Effy smiled, bringing another shot glass to her lips and throwing her head back.

Effy had walked them to a pub with a back beer garden to accommodate a chain-smoking habit the likes of which Naomi had never seen. Naomi was three pints in and felt far more drunk than Effy seemed, though their table was cluttered with empty shot glasses.

"That boy Cook," Naomi started, not really sure what she wanted Effy to tell her.

"You like him." Though it wasn't a question, it still felt like Effy was asking something of her.

"The boy with a blow job tattooed on his cock - are you serious? He's a fucking tosser!"

"Still, not the worst cock I've had."

"What?! You _shagged_ him? But -"

"Nurse's station," Effy said casually as she leaned back in her chair and lit up another fag.

"_Jesus_!" Naomi laughed.

With lager coursing through her, Naomi felt less guarded and let her scowl melt away in front of Effy. They talked easily, though the lulls in conversation where they sat silently smoking weren't uncomfortable either, and Naomi fell into an easy rhythm with Effy. Naomi thought she had perfected impenetrable and aloof but the layers to Effy put her to shame. The girl was solid as titanium. Naomi could see nothing beyond what Effy brought to the table, which had been very little. Naomi had never really sat and talked with another girl, not when there wasn't coursework involved. Not when it hadn't been an assignment on which her perfect score depended. Not since Emily and the treehouse. But Effy wasn't a girl, she was an enigma. Naomi realised she wasn't interested in cracking open the mystery of Effy Stonem. That she was content just being in her company. The way Effy carried herself, with a quiet tempered confidence, felt comfortable to Naomi. They stayed in the beer garden until a yellow glow fell over everything, and Naomi looked up to see the sun setting behind the buildings of downtown Bristol.

"Is your mum going to wonder where you are?" Naomi asked after a long bit of silence had settled between them.

"That's not likely." And although the lilt in Effy's voice was subtle, Naomi heard it and filed it away for another time. "Yours?"

"Depends on if she remembers I left for college this morning."

The girls smiled in shared recognition of the freedom that came as a benefit to elusive parenting.

"So, you didn't do it then." Effy's head was tilted just slightly to one side as she eyed Naomi from behind a haze of smoke.

Just one afternoon of casual conversation and Naomi had already pieced together that Effy Stonem would rarely, if ever, give you any indication as to what she meant. She spoke in clips and riddles, if she spoke at all. Still, Naomi could sense that the conversation had taken a decidedly abrupt turn. She didn't respond right away, and instead held Effy's gaze in some futile attempt to force her to elaborate. But of course, Effy was stoic and said nothing. So Naomi caved.

"Didn't do what?"

"Snog her sister?"

She meant Katie Fitch. And she meant Emily. And she meant the lies Katie was still spinning to whoever would listen. Naomi felt anger rising in her chest. Not at Effy for bringing it up, and not even at Katie. Not really. She should have been angry at Emily most of all, but that emotion never felt in tandem with her feelings on Emily Fitch. Sitting at a cafe table in a shit beer garden, and maybe only under the clarity that comes after too much to drink, Naomi realised she was angry because the story had been distorted into something ugly. Someone had taken the moment she'd shared with Emily that night and turned it on its head. She didn't have much with Emily, not anything really. A few stolen glances over the years. A few stupid moments that felt like unspoken conversations, the way Emily's eyes always seemed to tell a story. But the reality was that Naomi had the treehouse and the sensation of Emily's lips against her own, and very little else. A flush of anger rose, as it always did, when Naomi considered that the rumor mill had spun a sordid tale from something innocent, something simple, something really lovely.

"No. It didn't happen like that." Naomi's voice was quiet but firm, her eyes cast downward, as she waited for the onslaught of questioning she knew her response would fuel.

But Effy said nothing, and another wave of silence washed over the table, this one less comforting than before as Naomi's mind was left reeling. Effy stood then and reached for Naomi's hand. It was an unexpected gesture from someone so closed-off and unobtrusive, and Naomi studied the gesture for another moment.

"Come on, angry supermodel, let's get out of here."

Naomi hesitated, but much like lingering with her bicycle outside the school, she felt compelled to trust Effy, and wrapped her hand around Effy's slender fingers as she stood. Once they were back out in front of the pub, Naomi leaned slightly on the frame of her bike then stumbled slightly, feeling more drunk than she had while sitting.

"Easy there," Effy laughed, reaching out for Naomi's forearm. "You gonna be alright?"

"Yeah. Yes," Naomi shook her head and straightened up. "Yes, definitely."

"OK," Effy said releasing her grip on Naomi's arm. "Because I'm this way." She gestured in the direction opposite the way they'd come.

"Right." Naomi looked down the street in one direction and then turned her head and looked down the other way as if trying to decide which way she lived. "I'm over here," she finally decided.

"Cool." Effy _was_ cool. She was too cool. Too composed. And apparently immune to the effects of alcohol.

Naomi, feeling increasingly uncool by the minute, put all her efforts into sobriety and began pushing her bicycle up the street. Something hit her then, and she turned back towards Effy.

"How did you know? You know, that I hadn't."

Effy turned to face her again and stood, exhaling smoke into the evening air, considering Naomi's question. And then without explanation, she smiled and said, "Emily."

Before the response had registered, before Naomi could ask her to elaborate, Effy was walking away again and had rounded the corner. With a haze of lager hanging densely around her brain, Naomi unsuccessfully attempted to sort out Effy's one-word answer. Emily hadn't told the true story to Effy, had she? Why, after all this time, would she choose to confide in a perfect stranger? She tried not to give in to the possibility, but the prospect of Emily finally speaking the truth sent a shiver of excitement down her arms. The truth was, Naomi would never understand how Effy knew what she knew. Her perceptions of people were otherworldly, and Naomi would soon learn it was best to not question. And so, in spite of all her intelligence, Naomi would never know that all it took was a look. One look, a half second long, and Effy saw every truth Emily Fitch had never said out loud.

* * *

Naomi wasn't sure if they were actually friends, but the uncertainty didn't bother her. Where Effy Stonem was concerned, a lack of clarity often came with the territory. They didn't really talk regularly, but then, Effy wasn't in the habit of talking to much of anyone. The afternoon they spent getting pissed after their first day of classes had been the only time Naomi had seen Effy outside of Roundview. So when she turned up at Naomi's back gate and wandered into the small garden, Naomi was more than a little jolted. She'd been hiding outside, away from the fucking mayhem of Gina's communal living homeless shelter, trying to complete a reading assignment, when Effy wafted into the garden. She wore a faded black tank top, draped lazily onto one shoulder, ripped black leggings and tall boots. Her hair hung in loose curls down her back as she sauntered towards the shady spot where Naomi sat.

"Cool house. Looks ... cozy." Effy ghosted towards her, the ever-present fag smoking limply between her two fingers.

"Yeah, well, looks can be deceiving."

"Right." But Effy wasn't looking at the house anymore.

She kept her eyes fixed to Naomi, as if trying to work something out in that busy head of hers. Naomi's first thought was: _what is Effy doing in my back garden_? Quickly followed by: _how the hell does Effy even know I have a back garden_? But she knew trying to sort out answers to either was useless. So she just sat in silence until Effy got around to revealing any indication on why she was there.

"You should come out out tonight," she finally said.

Naomi didn't figure the invitation to be intentionally seductive, but Effy rarely said anything that didn't sound like a proposition for sex. The slow cadence in her voice always somewhat dripping with provocation. Her subtle mannersisms and the way her eyes could strip you to the core still caught Naomi off-guard. And vulnerability was not a feeling to which she was familiar. So when Naomi heard a shudder in her own response, she didn't look up to meet Effy's gaze.

"I can't."

"You sure about that?"

As hard as she fought against it, curiosity got the better of her and Naomi finally asked, "What's the draw?"

"Your pal Cook, who you absolutely do _not_ fancy, has a birthday today." She said it with a little look and a smirk, and Naomi knew Effy was trying again to get at her about something.

"Cook - who is not my mate - is maybe the last person in Bristol I'd choose to spend my Saturday night with. And let me just specify that there's a guy inside my house right now who _literally_ believes himself to be Jesus fucking Christ, and even he looks like more appealing company in light of that tosser."

"Your feigning disinterest is for shit, Naomi," Effy smirked. "Besides, if we're going to be friends, we've got to work on your tolerance for alcohol. So be there around six, yeah?"

Naomi cringed at the memory of the pub and her failure to keep composure after only a handful of pints. She then considered the thought that Effy might already think of them as friends, which sort of erased her embarrassment and replaced it with a jittery apprehension. Naomi didn't have friends because she didn't want them. Or, at least, that's the way she'd always understood it. Naomi Campbell: does not play well with others. It was a definition of herself she'd felt sure of for years, except now this girl had come along all mysterious eyes, seductive gait, and a not unfriendly smile and jarred Naomi's perceptions. Effy started to make her way back across the lawn, and Naomi held her top lip between her teeth to keep the next word from escaping, unsuccessfully.

"Where?"

Effy turned around again, squinting into the late afternoon sun, and Naomi could have killed her for the smug look of satisfaction she saw plastered on Effy's face.

"Fishpond's Tavern. It's total shit. The whole night's gonna be shit. It'll be great."

"Sounds great!" Naomi answered in mock excitement.

Effy was gone, and Naomi was left to the still of the garden again. Though the peaceful feeling from before had vanished in the wake of Effy Stonem, leaving Naomi feeling restless and irritated. She closed her textbook and lay down on the stone bench, using her book as a headrest. Unable to relax, she eventually sat up, grabbed her books, and exhaled an audible, _Fucking hell_, before heading back inside.

* * *

Emily trailed behind the other girls, fidgeting with the hem of her red cardigan. Katie was loud and brash as ever, fighting for Effy's ear over the nonsensical ramblings of a girl called Pandora. Having only been exposed to these girls for little over a week's time, Emily hadn't quite worked out how they were friends. Effy seemed self-reliant and generally detached while Pandora's loud, squeaky voice was always yammering on in a confusing dialect that only Effy seemed to comprehend.

"You're not going to act like this all night, are you? Fuck's sake." Katie was shooting annoyed glances over her shoulder while they walked.

"Act like what? I'm fine," Emily answered with a furrowed brow.

"Don't mind, Ems, she's like a total loner except for being my sister, obviously. Probably spend all day in our room staring out the window if it weren't for me forcing her into a fucking social life."

They had stopped at a pedestrian crosswalk, waiting for the traffic lights to change, and Katie had turned her conversation back to Effy.

"Blimey! Eff stopped talking for a bloody year, isn't that right, Eff?" Pandora chimed in.

Effy didn't respond to either of them and let her eyes settle onto Emily instead, her arms folded lightly along her stomach. Emily shifted uneasily and felt that same sense of exposure she'd experienced in the minutes just before their first politics lecture.

"Anyway, I just don't understand why you have to be so fucking weird all the time."

"I'm not weird all the time, Katie," Emily defended, annoyance rising in her tone.

"Ems, we're on our way to a shitty pub and you're carrying a fucking cake!" Katie argued.

"I don't think Emily's weird. I think she's right fit." Effy said the words without ever turning her attention to Katie, and although Emily was grateful for the compliment, she wished her face didn't always flare up at the slightest tinge of embarrassment.

"Yeah, well, of course she is, babe. Looks sort of like me, doesn't she?" Katie quipped, trying to recover Effy's attention just as the lights changed.

If Katie's plan was to berate her into feeling like a tosser then Emily didn't understand why she'd pushed so hard for her to come at all. It was the way they'd always operated - Katie needing Emily to play the role of the lesser, the insignificant twin. And Emily always bending to her sister's needs. With the absence of Emily, Katie's affected personality was less of a show, less noticeable. And Emily knew that if there was one thing that her sister depended on like air, it was being noticed. Emily wasn't scared of being noticed any more than she was scared of being overshadowed. But she knew it was easier for Katie to take center stage by making Emily feel small in contrast, and so Emily had learned to develop a quiet courage. She would do anything for her sister because, despite Katie's faults, Emily loved her more than any other person in her life. But, her patience for Katie's outbursts was wearing thin. Effy's mouth curled up in the smallest of smiles, making Emily wonder if she had somehow already sorted this dynamic. She lit a fag and slipped her lighter back into the pocket of her leather jacket.

"The cake is sweet. Cook'll go mental," she said, and then turned to cross the street.

* * *

Emily reached up her right hand and placed the palm against the thin fabric of her blouse. Her heart was still pumping so loudly it felt like bass drums ringing in her ears. Katie was right - the pub had been shit. And the party had been ... even more shit. In fact, it hadn't been a party at all, just an excuse for Cook to get pissed and go completely fucking mental in front of an audience. Around the time that Pandora vomited across the table, Emily had been ready to pack it in and head home early, leaving Katie to bitch and moan about having the biggest loser for a sister. But then the pub door swung open and everything changed. Emily still hadn't figured out why she showed, but she also didn't really care as to the whys and hows of when Naomi ended up in her presence, just so long as it kept happening. Everyone had emptied out of the pub and ambled around idly while Cook demanded Freddie take them to a new location. Eventually, as Emily suspected was often the case, Freddie caved. So now they walked, in a staggered pack of misfits, down towards the harbor. Emily dropped her hand back to her side, feeling suddenly self-conscious about bringing attention to her rapid heart rate and hoped Naomi hadn't noticed. They didn't speak to each other, just let the conversations from the more boisterous members of the group swirl around them.

Happy to have Katie occupied by Effy and Pandora, Emily had fallen into step with Naomi. It was such a small gesture, walking side by side, but the fact that Naomi hadn't gone running in the opposite direction left Emily feeling elated and giddy. She crossed her arms around her stomach, then uncrossed them, letting her hands fall to her side. But when her fingers slipped across the fabric of Naomi's denim skirt, she quickly crossed them again. She kept taking small glances in Naomi's direction, trying desperately to read her expressions, but Naomi's gaze was steady forward or cast to the pavement at their feet. _I'm sorry. I so sorry. I'm really sorry_. Emily repeated the phrase in different combinations in her head over and over as they walked. It was the only thing on her mind whenever she saw Naomi. And now that she was so close, close enough that the scents of Naomi's soap or perfume or detergent kept afloat on the light breeze, Emily's urgency to apologize and make things right was at its breaking point.

* * *

_"I'll see you around, Emily."_

The words still hung in the air where Emily sat seaside, inhaling the fumes of cargo barges and salty sea water. She'd really twatted up the apology. So much for rehearsing it for two years, thank you very much. She hadn't seen it playing out like it had. They were supposed to have time together so that Emily could talk slowly, really make Naomi understand just how sorry she was, how much she hated herself for being a fucking coward for so long. But when Naomi left the party so abruptly, Emily had reacted without thinking. Of course then, rushed and surprised by Naomi's confrontation about the kiss - about the actual moment for which she was trying to apologize - Emily completely fumbled any semblance of an apology. She picked up pebbles at her feet and tossed them into the murky water. She had been prepared for Naomi to be angry, to be properly irate. Emily had braced herself for the out lash that she knew Naomi was capable of delivering. Except, her expression had been something different, something that Emily had never considered. Something that looked more like hurt and exhaustion. She ran the words over and over in her head, trying to sort them out until they made more sense.

"Not really your scene then?"

The low drone of Effy's voice snapped Emily from her thoughts as she turned her head.

"Sorry?"

"Should have known that following Cook would lead to bullocks."

"Oh. Right." Emily watched Effy float lazily down beside her until they both sat near the water's edge.

Effy clicked her lighter then held open her pack to Emily. Effy's pupils were as wide as saucers, and Emily waved her hand, declining a fag.

"I think I'm going to head home." Emily stood and brushed dirt from her clothes. "Can you let Katie know I left?"

Effy craned her neck and squinted against the sun as she looked up at Emily. "Sure."

"Thanks." Emily started off and then stopped again, noticing Effy so close to the water. "You'll be OK, yeah?"

"Always am." Effy turned her attention back to the boats, and Emily hesitated for only another minute before heading off again.

"She won't hate you, you know." Effy's voice was low and slightly muffled against the sounds of the harbor, but it stopped Emily in her tracks.

She turned back and took two steps toward Effy. "Sorry?"

Effy spun around where she was sitting and leaned against one of the pilings, closed her eyes to the sun and exhaled a trail of smoke into the sea breeze.

"Who? Who won't -"

"If you just tell her the truth, she can't hate you."

"What are you talking about? Did Katie say something to you?"

Effy finished smoking, stubbed the remainder under the heel of her boot and stood in one, fluid motion.

"Cook's parties might be shit, but his drugs are fucking aces," she smiled up at Emily. "See you around, Emily."

Effy sauntered easily back towards the entrance and ran her index finger down the arm of the bouncer as she ghosted past him, disappearing back inside. Emily let her go, knowing that getting Effy to explain herself was a losing battle. Effy's words haunted Emily the whole walk back to her house, but by the time the bedroom door had clicked shut behind her and she had flopped herself onto the bed, something struck her. It didn't matter whether Effy had been talking about Katie or if it were Naomi, either way Emily desperately hoped she was right.


	6. Chapter 6: 3x06 part 2 & 3x07

Author's Note: I've not updated in so long, I know. I'm sorry. I sold MDMA to buy you these goggles? Truth is I started a new fic and didn't realize juggling both would be so time consuming. It's an AU Skins fic and it's been so fun and you should check it out? Anyway - let's get to it. You didn't really think we were finished with 3x06, did you?

** I don't own Skins, but we sleep together from time to time.

Emily is laid on her side, her breath shallow, her eyelids resisting the need to blink. She thinks if she closes her eyes for too long, everything might disappear. The night air is still warm, and it's a good thing because her pathetic attempt at a fire has long since been neglected. Emily's right arm is draped over Naomi's stomach, now covered again by her tee shirt. Naomi mindlessly traces patterns on her forearm, and Emily can't imagine a moment more perfect than this. She looks at Naomi, cheeks flushed, eyes closed, and starts to memorize everything about her in this glowing aftermath. She's been privy to her angry face, feels well acquainted with her frightened face, and even knows the look where Naomi pretends she's _not_ enjoying herself, which is usually reserved for Cook. But Emily never actually expected to see this face. _This_ Naomi. She suppresses a smile, still cautious of any movement disturbing the calm, as thoughts of Naomi falling onto her and pulling at her clothes run through her head.

They are both silent for a long time after the clothes came off and then went back on, and Emily tells herself that to speak would disrupt this quiet that so rarely falls over them. And so she keeps her head laid on the crook of her elbow and her eyes on Naomi who could be humming, she looks just that peaceful. _I've done this_, she thinks but then corrects herself, _no,_ _we've done this, together_. And Emily feels like running backwards in time and hugging herself at age fourteen because somehow she's always known that she could do this. That this was possible, this contentment and this calm. She saw something behind those cold, blue eyes all those years ago. Something that told her to push further, to try harder, that over time the impenetrable Naomi Campbell would break wide open and let her in. After a time, Emily's voice comes out low, just so low and soft that Naomi doesn't even bother looking over at her. Can't even bring herself to open her eyes.

"Seven."

"Mmm?" Naomi's fingers still glide back and forth on soft arm hairs.

"There've been seven."

Naomi lolls her head to the side then, her eyes opening slowly and a curious smile on her lips. "Are you going to tell me what you're talking about?"

"Today, at school, you said I couldn't possibly know that you're _always_ talking about anything because we've only ever had three conversations."

"Oh."

"But, there've been seven, actually."

Emily then recounts backwards to her, each conversation they'd shared over the months and years, while Naomi lay watching her, biting her lower lip. "And I know it was a shit conversation," Emily continues, referencing Cook's birthday, "but I'm counting it because it was the first words we'd said to each other since, well, everything went tits up, and I didn't apologise the way I intended because I was more shocked than anything that you let me say anything at all instead of maybe throwing me into the harbor," Emily rambles at full speed.

"Well, I did consider that … for a minute," Naomi smiles at her.

"I _am_ sorry for that. For _all_ of it." The sincerity in Emily's voice and on her face is almost too much for Naomi so she looks away when something stings the corners of her eyes.

"It's fine. It's ancient history, isn't it?" It's not a question and without the proper inflection, the words just sort of hang somewhere above them. Emily doesn't answer because Naomi hasn't turned to look at her, so Naomi speaks again, pushing beyond the emotions daring to erupt. "And anyway, the Valentine's Day party included, that's only six. I'm afraid you've miscounted."

Emily's smile is a bit embarrassed when she answers, "The party ... that treehouse … it wasn't the first time we talked."

Naomi looks back at her then with a furrowed brow, but there is something other than confusion in the dark shadows on her face that Emily can't read.

"It was ages ago. Just a silly chat, really, but you were new in school and I was asked to walk you to the administration office. You were so … quiet. And I had never been around anyone more reserved than myself, being raised with Katie and all. Always brought enough noise for the both of us, you know," Emily laughs looking down at the brown checked blanket, and Naomi's heart clenches a bit at the way Emily's fringe has fallen over one eye. "Anyway, I told you I was a twin and had lived in Bristol all my life and that the kids in our class were nice and you said -"

"They all seem like pricks to me."

Emily looks up to find Naomi's eyes bearing into her like they'd just done blow backs and she was steeling herself to lean in and kiss Emily for the first time all over again. Naomi's heart pounds and her head feels so thick and clouded she doesn't much care whether Emily's arm, still laid along her stomach, can feel it.

"You remember that?" Emily asks with a half smile. Naomi has stilled her fingers against Emily's skin.

"I can't believe _you_ remember that."

Emily's voice is small and unsteady but she doesn't break eye contact when she answers, "There is very little I _don't_ remember about you."

Emily waits for Naomi to move, to lean up and close the gap between them, but instead she pulls gently on Emily's arm bringing her closer. The same sort of desperation as before is glinting behind Naomi's eyes, but this time there is also a sense of purpose, of determination. Emily falls easily, first an arm wrapped under Naomi's back then a leg slipped between two longer legs. Then it's tender mouths and hot breaths, bare skin and fingers tangled up in hair, legs shifting and bodies tumbling off the blanket to the cool, damp earth.

Naomi can't find enough to touch, enough places to put skin against skin. Enough ways to put herself against Emily. And when they are pressed together she remembers everything and nothing in the same breath. When Emily's tongue slides easily against hers, she feels every sensation: pain, want, serenity, desire, terror, safety, warmth. The surface of Emily is heat and Naomi is drawn in like moth to flame. And when Emily cries out like the touch and release is torture and pleasure all at once, Naomi looks down at her, sees two tears roll down her temples. And Emily doesn't turn away.

* * *

Naomi doesn't have trouble falling asleep, doesn't even remember doing so. She isn't sure why - she fucking hates the forest with its shadows and wildlife and unpredictable noise. But when she opens her eyes to find Emily curled against her, she remembers exactly why. She lies completely still for what feels like hours, watching as the muted sun starts to break its way through the canopy of trees. Naomi's head had spun so violently she couldn't think about the way her hands and mouth had found their way across Emily's skin. Spinning makes you lighter, makes your arms float up from the sides of your body. But now everything is motionless, settling over her. Her skin feels tacky - moist and cold. The dew is everywhere and her clothes feel heavy against her body. She doesn't feel warm. _Everything is different now_, she thinks. And the truth of it makes every rapid heartbeat feel like tiny explosions in her chest. When she walks away, Emily follows, yelling and angry at first. And when her voice breaks against Naomi's back, something else breaks inside of her that she is still too scared to define because despite Emily's desperate plea, Naomi is not brave.

When the last of Naomi's shape is gone away down the lake trail, Emily returns to their pitiful camp site and collapses to her knees just before reaching the blanket. She feels chips of tree bark and bits of pine pressing into her bare skin. When she is able to stand again, her legs will be dirt stained, tree bark imprinted into her kneecaps. But she doesn't stand, can't work her limbs, for quite some time. She can just barely see the sun's reflection across the lake's surface in the distance, the fog still lingering like smoke, and she knows it's ruined. She used to come here for solitude, for safety, for clarity. But with her sobs growing louder and less inhibited, Emily feels anything but safe, and the lake - _her_ lake - offers nothing in return.

Naomi takes things, she thinks. She takes and takes with no regard. Emily didn't have to bring her here, share this place with her. And maybe she had been appreciative to start, and maybe she had been _more_ than appreciative just hours before dawn. But in the end, Naomi would always give in to her fear, leaving Emily to deal with the repercussions. Leaving Emily to sort out the mess that always followed their perfect storm. Leaving _Emily_.

* * *

When Emily returns home, the house is quiet. Without her there to wake her siblings, she thinks they've no doubt slept through alarms and their mother's shouting. She manages her way up the staircase, her eyes now just a puffy mess of mascara and dried tears. When she enters the bedroom, Katie is already off at a decibel too painful for the early morning hour.

"Where the _fuck_ have you been? You're lucky mum's well daft in the mornings and that I'm so fucking good at distractions." Katie turns from the mirror to face her. "Jesus _Christ_! You look like fucking shit, Ems!"

Emily moves past her sister towards her bed, and with no regard for the state of her clothes, falls in a heap onto the duvet, pulling her knees up to her chest and tucking both hands under her chin. She closes her eyes as if this will somehow also block out the noise of Katie. And somehow, it does. Katie is quiet for a moment.

"You can't make me late for college, Emily. And mum will shit rockets if she sees all this dirt smeared on your bed linens." Emily thinks she means to sound annoyed, but something in her tone has changed.

Emily lies still. Partly, she thinks, she wouldn't be able to speak even if she wanted to. Every millimetre of muscle, every joint of bone and cartilage aches with exhaustion. After another beat of silence, Emily feels the weight shift in the mattress and knows Katie has sat next to her.

"You can tell me, you know. If something's happened." Katie's voice is quiet and Emily knows it's meant to be comforting, but there is something else lingering in the tone.

Fear. Her sister is afraid. Afraid for what Emily could say. Afraid for what it could mean for her, for the both of them, for Emily. They aren't fourteen anymore, and Katie knows that somehow this probably means something bigger than a drunken snog. It means more than a childhood act of curious immaturity. Somehow, Emily thinks, she _has_ to know. Tears start to run from the corner of her eye, rolling across the bridge of her nose and onto the pillow. Katie's not ready to hear it from her, she's not ready to let go of the idea of her. And the reality of it makes her feel so alone that when Katie reaches up and puts her hand on Emily's arm, she cries harder. Katie stays sat beside her until Emily's sobs lessen, but when her sister realises she isn't going to speak, Katie is off the handle again.

"Fine, don't tell me. Don't fucking tell me anything. And get to school – I'm not lying to mum for you." The bedroom door slams and Katie is gone.

* * *

When Emily wakes up, she looks at her hand resting on the mattress next to her. She thinks about the cat flap and how she'd never thought what it would be like to hear Naomi cry. How it'd taken every fucking fibre of her resistance not to open up and let her in. Not to let her in all over again. And even though her eyes are burning a bit from being so dry and even though she feels a bit stuffed up from crying for the better part of yesterday, she feels better. Well, she feels something, and she thinks it feels better than before. It could be something like resolve, she thinks. When she's walking into town after getting off the coach, her mobile buzzes from somewhere inside her bag. A text from Naomi.

9:48 Coffee?

Emily feels a rush of something. And maybe it's something like self-control. She pauses just outside a squatty, rundown building and types.

9:50 Can't. Busy this morning. Call you later?

Naomi responds quickly: Sure.

Emily smiles with something she might define as confidence and turns into the odd-looking building. She likes JJ. Likes spending time with someone who isn't controlling, like Katie, or confusing, like Naomi. JJ is a breath of fresh air and Emily finds herself inhaling and exhaling their simple exchanges like her air supply has been cut off for far too long. When she sees her twin on top of Freddie, she feels something like betrayal, but the emotion doesn't make sense. It takes her the entire bus ride home to sort it out, and finally she realizes it has nothing to do with Freddie and everything to do with Katie. It has everything to do with the realisation that they are slipping apart, losing touch and losing themselves as their differences become to big to ignore. She wonders if it all started with Naomi and now Freddie is just the next chapter for her and Katie.

Emily shows up to the outdoor cafe to find Naomi already scowling into her cappuccino.

"Hey." Naomi's tone sounds removed and nothing close to pleasant.

Emily sits, orders a latte and waits. Waits for Naomi to say something because after all this was her idea. But after only a few awkwardly silent minutes, Emily can see traces of the girl who left her crying on a forest floor resurfacing.

"Enjoying that?" Emily insinuates towards the untouched beverage in front of Naomi, who's finger has been mindlessly tracing the rim for the better of fifteen minutes.

"Yeah, it's fine."

Something rises up in Emily's bloodstream that feels like stifling heat and she thinks it could be something like irritation. Her tone is unfriendly when she asks curtly, "So, what's this all about then?"

Naomi looks up at her for the first time, and although her eyes look sad and defeated, Emily does not feel sympathy.

"We're good as friends, Emily. Can't that be enough?"

Emily thinks it sounds rehearsed. Like Naomi has been sitting across from her the whole time just repeating the words over and over again, hoping she can manage to get them out. The temperature inside Emily's body scorches her skin from the inside until she feels like she could combust right there in broad daylight.

"You want to be friends," she manages to say, keeping her voice leveled.

"Don't you?" Naomi offers weakly.

Emily's head slowly sways from side to side and as her eyes hit the pavement she knows it's only a matter of time before all the frustration and anger explodes from her tear ducts, and crying in front of Naomi is maybe the last thing she's prepared to do.

"Sure, Naomi."

Emily slowly pushes herself away from the table, stands from her chair and walks away from the cafe. She knows Naomi won't call out, won't try to follow her. She knows Naomi wears her fears and insecurities like weights around her ankles, keeping her grounded to one, safe spot. That if she ever tried jumping in with both feet, her fears would drown her. For Naomi, this is what the lake meant to her, Emily thinks.

* * *

By the time she sees Thomas, waving excitedly at the front of the queue outside the club, Emily is full up on a half bottle of vodka and some pills she found hidden in Katie's bureau. The effect of which is numbing and lovely. Her head floats somewhere above her body, unattached to everything around her. Thomas' strong arms around her as she's wrapped up in his embrace feel like paper straw wrappers, and Emily smiles happily at this feeling of detachment. The music in the club is loud and manic and Emily is immediately swept up in a crowd of sweat and rhythm and unwelcome contact. But she craves it, feels safety within the chaos.

She spots Emily right away, a glossy sheen of sweat on her face and arms, and just as Naomi is about to reconsider everything in order to protect Emily from the debauchery of this club, Effy is pulling her towards a staircase to the second floor. Naomi throws one more look over her shoulder as she starts to ascend the stairs to see at least Cook has found Emily, which will have to do for now.

"Cheers," Effy says flatly, raising a shot glass to clink against the one Naomi is holding.

The girls toss back one after another, perched on stools near the balcony railing on the second floor of the club.

"So you like her then?" Effy finally says just loud enough to be heard over the thudding bass of house music.

Naomi shrugs, "We're friends. I guess." She's lost track of Emily in the crowd again, keeps thinking she sees flashes of red when it's just the colored spot lights playing fucking tricks on her. "It's complicated."

"Sure you're not just telling yourself that?"

Naomi finally squares on Effy and smiles when she challenges, "I could ask you the same."

Effy smiles back, her cool and collected smile that fools everyone into thinking she's always got it under control.

"Come on lezzah, I need a fag."

The two girls saunter down the staircase, now cluttered with people snogging against the railings, and head for the back door of the club. Effy lights up one for herself and then Naomi and it's not until Naomi inhales, grateful for the rush of nicotine, that she sees her. Emily is crouched onto the curb, her clothes askew and her beautiful, shiny red hair damp and mussed. Naomi's throat clenches at the sight, unable to tear her eyes away. Emily is crying. This is the moment, she thinks. This is when you stop being a fucking prick, throw your arm around Emily Fitch and take her home. She knows Emily is fearless in so many ways, brave and courageous in ways that Naomi could only hope to be. But she is also this. Broken, scared, alone. She is also a girl, sitting outside a club, crying into her hands because she thinks no one can see her. Thinks no one has ever really seen her.

"Go on."

Effy's voice breaks into Naomi's subconscious, and Naomi waits only a second before stubbing out her tab against the brick wall against which Effy is leaning and takes two brisk steps towards Emily. She stops short when she sees JJ approaching. Stands stock still while he sits down beside her, wrapping his jacket around her shoulders. She's not alone now, she thinks. JJ has found her, which will have to do. For now.


	7. Chapter 7: 3x09

Naomi turns up to college earlier than usual and figures that subconsciously she's done so because they are sitting exams today and her academically-charged brain feels guilty about all the debauchery from Gobbler's End. She doesn't consider that it has anything to do with seeing Emily as soon as possible. She rarely considers her actions as having any tie to Emily, even though Effy would have a look for her that says otherwise.

Effy.

Naomi retrieves her mobile from her bag and tries the number again. It's gone straight to voicemail for the past 4 days and a sick feeling keeps swirling in Naomi's gut when she considers what that could mean. The horrible outcome of the camping trip. The yelling. The searching. The rock. Katie in hospital for days on end. And then no more Effy.

When a steady stream of students start filtering into the school, Naomi finally gathers her things and decides to head inside. She's been sat off to the side of the building on a low wall and as she approaches the steps something, some_one_, catches her eye. In a moment of disbelief, Naomi actually pauses, crosses her arms along her stomach, and smiles genuinely at the sight of petite Emily Fitch wobbling confidently up the front steps of college in black heels and gaudy leggings.

With her exams finished, Naomi heads straight for Emily's locker so they can share a good laugh about the ruse. But after a few minutes of waiting and head turning in search of that cherry red hair, Naomi realises the obvious and heads down the hall towards Katie's locker instead.

* * *

Even the sight of Freddie, which immediately brings back thoughts of Effy, can't deter Naomi from getting Emily somewhere secluded. She drags the smaller girl down crowded halls until they finally push through the front entrance and into bright sunshine. Emily is laughing when Naomi stops suddenly, looking about frantically like she's asking: _what now?_

"Do you want to go back to mine?" Naomi finally asks, never feeling more self-conscious of 8 words before in her entire life.

Emily just nods with enthusiasm, smiling at Naomi like she' s a daft idiot who's just caught on to some running joke that Emily's known about all along. Naomi starts hurriedly down the pavement in front of school with Emily at her side and then stops short.

"My bike," she winces, biting at her bottom lip.

"We'll take it," Emily shrugs. At Naomi's look of confusion, Emily explains, "I can ride on your handlebars."

"I'll crash!"

Emily laughs, taking Naomi's hand and leading her towards the bike racks. "Katie and I used to do this all the time – it's easy."

The girls ride along, Naomi wobbly at first as she adjusts to the weight of balancing two bodies instead of just one, and laugh hysterically for 7 straight blocks until Naomi stops too suddenly sending Emily flying forward and landing on her feet. She'd had the sense to remove Katie's shoes before the ride, making it easier to land properly on the street without breaking her ankles in heels. But Naomi still rushes forward, panicked that she's somehow caused Emily to fall.

"Shit! Are you OK? Are you OK?"

"I'm fine," Emily smiles up at her as she regains her balance. "I've got cat-like reflex—"

Her words and giggles are stopped abruptly by the feel of Naomi's lips on her own, and after the initial shock wears down, Emily also becomes aware that they are standing in the middle of the street, snogging in broad daylight. She pulls at Naomi, gently leading her behind hedges that line an alleyway between two houses. Naomi presses up against her, Emily's back going flush against a brick wall, and it's like they are back at the lockers all over again. Except Naomi's hands are roaming Emily's body like she's out of her mind, and so it takes every ounce of willpower for Emily to finally grab hold of them and pull away.

"What?" Naomi's brow is creased in worry as she questions Emily breathlessly.

"Thought we were going back to yours."

Naomi smiles and Emily can sense her embarrassment when she pulls her lips between her teeth and looks downward, so she leans forward and breathes kisses onto Naomi's neck.

"That is not going to get us there any faster," Naomi practically groans, her hands leant up against the brick wall on either side of Emily.

With a bit more concentration and loads of self-control, the girls finally make it to the yellow cottage as Naomi dumps her bicycle by the front steps, hauling Emily into the house and closing the door behind them.

"Your mum?"

"Not here," Naomi answers, out of breath from the hurried pace they used to get there.

She pushes Emily back again, this time against the front door, but Emily pushes back, urging Naomi towards the staircase. When Naomi trips backwards, nearly landing midflight on her arse, they finally abandon the kissing until Naomi has closed her bedroom door behind them. When Naomi is stood in front of her again, Emily can feel her muscles twitching with anticipation. She reaches up, tugs at Naomi's blazer until it falls to the floor. Naomi's hands move slowly towards the top button on the leopard print top, and Emily swallows back nerves as Naomi's fingers lightly graze the soft, exposed skin. When a short laugh escapes Naomi's mouth, Emily instinctively jerks away, a cross look shadowing her face.

"What the fuck, Naomi?"

"Sorry, sorry!" But Naomi barely troubles herself to stop more laughter. "It's just –" she winces before continuing, "it's just I sort of feel like I'm undressing your sister."

Emily looks down at herself, the loud top, short black skirt and striped leggings, finds her own laughter at this and relaxes again. "A bit disturbing, I guess."

"A bit." But Naomi has already stilled her own expression and when she starts kissing Emily again, all thoughts of Katie have vanished.

Naomi finally rids Emily of the animal print and, with a little persistence, is able to shed the skirt and leggings as well. And then she is left with just Emily, laid out on her bed like she was always meant to be there. They lay side by side in nothing but bras and knickers and Naomi thinks her bed has never felt like such a safe space. She kisses Emily and says the things she never has the courage to say out loud. Touches her fingertips to the soft skin of her stomach and hopes Emily can hear her. When she feels Emily slowly tracing her fingers along her back towards the latch of her bra, Naomi almost goes completely unhinged by the sensation. She wonders if the kisses Emily trails from her collarbone down to the sensitive peaks of her breasts also have words behind them. She thinks that maybe this is how they'll always communicate the things that are too hard to say.

She never says Emily's name when she comes. Always consciously yells something else in desperation, like profanity. She wonders if Emily notices. Emily has always been more honest, even during climax. And so when the rhythm of Naomi's mouth between her legs causes Emily to ball the sheets between clenched fists, her voice is strained like that moment before you break down into tears and she says, "Oh my god, _Naomi_."

When it is Naomi writhing in pleasure, pinned beneath Emily's small frame, she loses her head in a cloud of ecstasy. Emily likes to watch her, keeps her eyes on her as her fingers move magically beneath the bed sheet. So Naomi initially turns her head into Emily's shoulder, her instinct always being to shy away from feeling vulnerable, ripped open and raw. Still, eventually she tends to plow forward in moments like these. Cranes her head back and lets Emily kiss the exposed skin of her neck. And when orgasm is imminent, Naomi doesn't hold back when she yells out, "Oh my fucking god" even though she knows Emily will watch her until she rides the staggered waves all the way back down.

They lay like this, breaths heavy and racing and then slowed and tired. Naomi keeps Emily in place by wrapping her arms around the girl's slender waist and Emily's head slowly rises and falls as it rests on Naomi's chest. Every few minutes, Naomi's arms seem to flex as if to ensure herself that Emily is still there. And she isn't sure if this is residual muscle spasms from climax or something else in her subconscious, but when it happens, Emily always breathes a sigh and kisses the top of her shoulder.

They spend hours in bed, tucked under covers, and everything is warm and lovely. Even as the sun is setting, casting orange glows over everything, Naomi's room feels more like a dream than anything she's ever experienced in reality. She loses herself a bit in the warm touch of Emily's fingertips as they glide up and back across her bare skin. But then it happens. And it happens so fast that even after Emily is gone, Naomi cries into the pillow and can still smell her shampoo. She cries for so long, she loses track of time. Feels like she's always losing track of time around Emily. Or sometimes just Emily. Naomi is still sniffling when she dials Effy's number, and again it goes to voicemail. Only this time she doesn't hang up in frustration. She stays on the line, feels an ounce of comfort at the sound of Effy's stale voice on the recording.

"Eff, it's me. I just – I just really fucking wish you'd turn up already. I'm fucking everything up. Everything's fucked," she sobs pulling a hand to her forehead. "Emily's gone and Katie's head and fuck – what the fuck happened? Call me back. _Please_, Eff. I don't know if I can sort this – everything's gone to shit." She pulls the phone to her chest, closes her eyes as it bobs up and down with her heaving sobs, and finally hangs up.

* * *

Naomi wakes the next morning with resolve and the type of determination she's used her whole life to get the things she's wanted most. The type of determination that gets her high marks in school. The type of determination that's kept her solid all these years against the looks, the hushed whispers, against the likes of Katie Fitch. But today she's suiting up, slipping into her armour she hopes is still just as impenetrable to rejection and ridicule, for another Fitch. Of course for all of her resolute confidence, she still stands in front of her wardrobe dressing and undressing for the better of 45 minutes. Nothing fits right. Nothing seems presentable enough to walk behind the enemy lines, enter the Fitch residence, risk the likes of not just Katie but Jenna Fitch as well, and say out loud all the things she's been mulling since the night before.

By the time Naomi is standing where the pavement meets the driveway leading up to Fitch central, she starts to push back doubts and insecurities. Thinks of Emily. Thinks of Emily's deep brown eyes, glossy pools of innocence and intensity that never fail to leave Naomi feeling utmost safety and constant uncertainty in equal measure. Thinks of Emily's soft hands, gliding over her bare skin. Thinks of Emily's voice with all it's rasp and laughter and brutal honesty. With one, final, lingering moment of trepidation, she finally raises her hand to the door frame, ready or not.

Stupid, fucking, cunting, nasty slag of a woman. Naomi can feel the anger seething from her skin, gathering in the sweaty creases of her palms as her hands ball into fists. It becomes apparent that Emily's sister's cruel intolerance was bred right at home. Naomi had been made to feel like some sort of predator while Jenna Fitch circled around her, a protective lioness, as if something was threatening her cubs. Naomi reaches up, rips the headband from her perfectly combed hair and almost enjoys the ounce of pain that shoots through her skull. Jenna Fitch can't hurt her any more than she's capable of hurting herself. She doesn't need to lash out, lay protective threats in order to ward off Naomi's advances. Emily's already gone, she thinks. And as the reality of it filters into her conscious, a heavy sense of loss replaces all her anger, and Naomi's cheeks are again wet with tears.

* * *

Emily hates shopping. Particularly hates shopping with Katie. Even more particularly hates shopping with Katie when she'd rather be lying in bed, feeling sad or angry. The shop smells a bit like moth balls, a bit like her Granny's house except without the comforting aroma of fresh baked biscuits and lavender tea. And especially less comforting the minute she spots Freddie and his stupid, lopsided grin sauntering towards her and Katie. When Freddie disappears into the dressing room with her sister and she's left alone with JJ, it's not awkward but she abandons the conversation anyway in search of her mobile. She's checked it exactly 18 times and every time an hour lapses without any word from Naomi the feeling of hopelessness consumes her just that much more. She doesn't believe Naomi is confused. Emily knows that the immobilizing fear and apprehension that overtakes Naomi's body has everything to do with feeling certain, being struck with crystal realisations, and not having the slightest idea what to do next. When Naomi says, _I'm not sure like you, _Emily thinks it's probably more likely she means: _I want to be with you, but I'm not sure I know how, like you_.

Katie doesn't stop yelling the entire way home, and at some point, Emily stops listening and starts listing the periodic table of elements in her head to drown out the high-pitch of her sister pealing on about sex and JJ her fuck-all image. By the time they reach the front walk of the house, Emily is yelling too, hoping her own raised voice will be enough to create some fucking distance between herself and Katie. Though she knows it never works that way. She knows in order for Katie to see the distinction between her lacy thongs and Emily's boy shorts, for example, she's going to have to come clean about all of it. The things that are bigger than make-up and wardrobe and matching dresses and silly, patterned bows. She's going to have to come out with it in a way that's not about getting a rise from her mother at the supper table. And as the day wears on, the knowledge of this starts building inside of her so by the time Naomi does ring her, again and again, she's so far gone with sorting her own head, she's not ready to deal with Naomi's head too.

* * *

Exactly 8 minutes into her exam Naomi loses her last drop of concentration and walks out, neglecting not to finish but to even start the test. As the door closes behind her she hears something of an objection from the professor but keeps walking and simultaneously searching for a number on her mobile. On the walk home from Emily's the day prior, she'd felt anger and frustration then sadness but never defeat. A different Naomi from a different time not so long ago would have easily taken defeat. Would have easily rolled over and let others kick in her ribs until she accepted a certain fate. She'd have called it something like defiance, something more like stubborn indifference, which is why she's perfected that scowl. Which is why it's been so easy to keep everyone at arm's length by being too unapproachable because people would rather look the other way. Which is why it's it means something, she thinks, that Emily never stopped looking.

But that Naomi had only an inkling, a meagre glimpse, of what it meant to know Emily Fitch. That Naomi had never known the undeniable character, the absolutely breathtaking spirit, the bravery that could inspire armies or change history - all these things that made Emily so much more than the girl with the crooked, red fringe and friendly smile. But Naomi would never again be _that_ Naomi. Not after an afternoon of campaign planning over a bottle of vodka; not after the trivia night at Keith's filthy pub. Not after Emily had taken her to the lake, and not just because she'd touched her in ways Naomi had never before imagined, but because she'd taken her there at all. Because Emily, from the very start, had always been ready to open herself completely and let Naomi see every beautiful, ugly, beating part.

She can't make her legs move fast enough and as she approaches the small coffee shop, tries again to slow her thoughts along with her heart rate. She wants to get it right. For once she wants to say the right thing. She wants to be able to say anything at all, instead of sitting like a mute while Emily spills everything onto the table. But when she peers through the glass and sees Emily there, she knows that nothing can stop her from babbling like a fucking idiot once Emily's eyes are on her. So with one last breath to steel her courage, she enters the shop.

* * *

Up in her room, away from her mother's pleading eyes and repetitive offers of tea, Naomi lets Katie's words settle over her and immediately feels bile rise to her throat. It's not just JJ - though admittedly it is just a bit - it's anyone being that close to Emily, that intimate. Naomi rips at her clothes until she's standing in the middle of her room, completely starkers and shaking as if someone is running ice water down her back. She tries to decide between shower and bed, finally deciding on the latter and collapses onto the duvet. She thinks about Emily and definitely _not_ JJ, and she thinks about how it feels like she's tried and failed so many times to get through to her over the past few days. And then, for the first time, wonders if this is what's it like to be Emily all the time. Always following after her, trying to get time with her, to make her listen, only to be tossed aside again and again. And although she didn't think it possible, the realisation makes her feel even worse than the news of shagging JJ.

Emily's got tiny, red scratches on her face and Naomi thinks that she's never before seen those dark pools of brown gloss over with this kind of sadness. And it's in this moment, with her leering classmates crowding around in the calm after such wild chaos, that Naomi realises how little part she plays in this at all. As the catalyst, maybe. As the end result, definitely. But when it's boiled out to its most basic parts, what's left is Emily and Katie. Much like everyone else gathered round – though whether they are bright enough to recognise it or not is debatable – Naomi knows she's intruding on something sacred. That the words crossing the space between these two sisters are spanning childhoods and years of teen angst. They are locked diaries, shared bedrooms, secret languages. They aren't meant to be heard by anyone but Katie. And so the fact that this is still happening, that Emily is still saying it all out loud, means her state of desperation grew so much more dire than Naomi had taken the time to notice.

_I like **a** girl. No, I love her_.

When Naomi hears the words for the first time, she loses touch with the reality of the moment, she loses touch with just about everything and is rather surprised to see, seconds later, that she's still standing on two feet. But when she meets not just one, but both pairs of Fitch twin eyes, she remembers again that though the words belong to her, they are meant to resonate with Katie. Emily's eyes are pleading, but Naomi thinks that maybe it is less about loving her back and more about getting Katie to open up and let her in. Naomi thinks that being with Emily is like spinning out of control. Like watching the world go by too rapidly so that everything blurs together and if you try to focus in on one object too carefully it feels like your head could explode. So it makes sense then, when her hand reaches out. She wants to reassure Emily that's she not alone in this. She wants to bring her back close to her side and feel the puzzle piece snap into place. But also, her arm just seems to move of its own volition. Like spinning in circles as a kid until your arms leave your sides because gravity has lost its hold on them. Being with Emily is like losing gravity.

* * *

Getting back to the yellow cottage that night is nothing like the scrambled urgency of their afternoon tryst from days prior. In fact, when Gina pops her head from the kitchen doorway at the sound of the front door opening, they don't decline a cup of tea and some delightfully inappropriate conversation with Naomi's worldly mum. Naomi pulls Emily down to sit next to her on the sofa, never losing a grip on her hand and decides this will probably be her go-to from now on. Constant physical contact with Emily. Seems like a solid plan.

When they get upstairs behind the closed door of Naomi's bedroom, it's apparent just how much the air has changed. Their bodies still move a little cautiously, a little clumsily, like reintroducing muscle movement to a limb after surgery.

"I like this dress much better," Naomi says slipping two fingers under a strap of the silky black fabric.

"Thanks," Emily smiles because Naomi's eyes had been saying this long before her lips ever found the words.

Naomi pauses, knowing very clearly what her body is dictating as her next move, but chews purposefully on her cheek as she looks down at Emily.

"What is it?" And of course Emily knows something's coming.

"I love you, Emily."

Emily kisses her and it's not lusty or aggressive, but she lingers there like she answering all the questions that Naomi hasn't even asked.

"But …" Emily cocks both eyebrows, smirks up at her expectantly.

"How do you know there's a but?"

Emily plops down on the bed and crosses her legs so that she's leaning back against the mattress, holding her weight with the palms of her hands.

"Because with you, there always is."

And it's not a seductive move, but good fuck that black dress, and it's all Naomi can do to tear her eyes away from Emily's body and back to meet her expectant gaze. Also realising she's lost touch with Emily's hand or arm or face or mouth, Naomi quickly closes the gap between her and the bed and settles for placing a hand over Emily's against the mattress.

"It's just, I love you, but I can't figure why _you_ would love _me_. I'm horrible to – I do horrible things, and I'm a fucking prick to be around, and –" Naomi stops only when Emily's lips have found hers again, though she can't imagine why this speech inspires more affection.

"The things you do have very little to do with the person you really are. And granted there have been less-than-shining moments where you and I are concerned, but I never believed you were lashing out because you're a horrible monster. More that you were just too afraid of what kind of person you would be if you just let yourself go."

Emily's eyes are warm and she's taken Naomi's hand, pressed it between both of her own.

"How could you know all of that about me?"

Emily shrugs, "Same way I've always know you were a bit of prick to be around."

This makes Naomi forget the mist in her eyes and she laughs. And then they are both laughing and the air is changing again into something that feels more like how it always should be. How it always should have been. Naomi thinks it feels a bit like that afternoon sprawled on her bedroom floor, sharing a bottle of shit vodka, and can't believe it's taken them this long to get things feeling right again. Later, when Emily pulls Naomi down onto her and they start to do the things that always make Naomi feel like her skin is going to ignite into actual flames, she can sense something different. About Emily's hands, about the way her body reacts to all the sensations she's grown to crave. And she cringes to think about calling it 'making love' because it sounds like something old people in horrible fucking romance novels might call it. But she knows in those touches and in those moments when Emily pauses from placing her mouth on bare skin to look up at her that the love is there. That it's probably always been there. And she can't figure out why it took her so long to see it because it's practically blinding.

In the morning, Naomi wakes slowly because there isn't a rush anymore. There isn't a reason to run terrified from Emily or desperately to her because, and she rolls over in bed as the thought finishes forming in her head, she's right beside her. Sleeping. Emily Fitch sleeping and naked and tucked under her sheets. Naomi reaches out her hand until her fingertips connect with silky red strands and when Emily stirs and looks over at her with sleepy eyes, she doesn't retract her hand. Instead, she moves closer so that they share the same pillow, the same space, the same slightly sweet, pungent morning breath.

"You said you loved me last night." It's the first thing she says. Not 'good morning.' Not 'hi' in that soft, sweet way that might sound incredibly sexy in a voice like Emily's where it's all crackle and rasp.

"I did. I do."

"Yeah?" And then she's moving over to Naomi's side of the bed until it's warm skin on top of warm skin and her lips hover just above contact when she smiles and says, "Show me."

**Author's Note:** Well, that's it, isn't it? Series 3: complete. Sorry to see it go (again), but it's been fun, yeah? Wait, what's that? There was another episode titled "Everyone" except it should have been called "How we wrap up the angsty love triangle of Cook-Freddie-Effy?" Oh right, that one. The _real_ finale. But what the hell was going on in our sweet, little Naomily world while Effy was being propositioned by Cook's estranged father? Wouldn't you like to know ... well, OK if you insist. The next chapter really might be the last though I haven't decided if I have the strength (mentally/emotionally/physically) to go back to Series 4 as of yet. So if I reach that decision then there's a good chance another Inbetweener type fic is on the horizon for those eps as well. Thanks again for coming along on this little sojourn. It's been rather fun, I think.


	8. Chapter 8: Summer Holiday Pt 1

**Author's Note:** Guess who's back, bitches. I realise this little story got put on the back burner for well, longer than I intended, but I haven't forgotten it no matter what Pitapumpkineater has been telling you.

I have decided not to write IBTS: series 4 edition because I think it would require too much whiskey, dark grey rooms, and a play mix of all the depressing music I own, which could be excessively bad for my health. What I have decided however, is that it would be a crime not to spend a lovely summer holiday with Naomily and that's exactly what I intend to do.

I also literally wrote this first summer installment just so Pitapumpkineater will shut the fuck up about it. And I mean that in the nicest of ways. Cheers, Pita. [and anyone else who was waiting around for a new chap]

* * *

Emily's got loads of striped underwear. They rarely match her bras either, which are less often striped but equally loud in colour. It all started with her hair, probably – her tendency towards loud, abrasive colours. Then worked its way into the rest of her wardrobe as well. Like she can't be bothered with drab, neutral colours and is drawn instead to a palette that practically screams. Which is only mildly ironic, considering how Emily's got everyone fooled into thinking she the _quiet_ twin.

She takes a lot of showers here, citing something once about clean, dry towels and hot water and it's unclear, what kinds of conditions she's living in at home; though, given the pristine exterior of the Fitch house and a very limited [yet highly impressionable] interaction with Jenna in their kitchen, it seems unlikely the state of Emily's own bathroom would be all that dire. Still, Emily usually stays wrapped up in her towels – one wound tightly around that impossibly bright red hair, the other tucked under her armpits – and lounges on the bed as if the heat and steam has exhausted her beyond the ability to get dressed. And well, it's not really ever been a bad thing – seeing Emily in little-to-no clothing.

She gets along with Gina famously. And it makes sense – considering how fucking charming and pleasant they both are without even trying. It would be well fucking annoying too, listening to her engage in conversations with Gina about her interests, her causes, her bloody anti-political agenda, if it weren't also a bit sweet. A bit sad. Because it doesn't take a genius to work out that Emily's never had this – probably won't _ever_ have this kind of attention, this sort of unbridled acceptance, from her own mum.

There are two toothbrushes in the bathroom now. And the second – the blue one with flecks of gold in the handle, its bristles looking abused like Emily's been scrubbing fucking tiling with it instead of brushing her teeth – just appeared without mention. Just popped up on the left side of the sink one morning.

And when she smiles at the sight of it – just stops midway through washing her face and fucking _smiles_ at the stupid thing tucked behind one of the taps – Naomi realises, quite abruptly, she's a lost, fucking cause.

* * *

"Kieran and I are off to Barcelona for the next week or so," her mum says in the spectacularly indifferent way she's always shared information. "You'll remember to water the gardens, won't you dear?"

And of course, her mum's first concern would be the fucking foliage over, perhaps, the more obvious matter of caring for her only child while she's fucked off to Spain. She argues as much to this point in-between mouthfuls of granola, which she prefers to eat dry and straight from the box.

Gina's response, infuriately calm and dismissive, is coupled with a patronising kiss to the top of her head. "Oh Naomi, don't be so theatrical. I've already set money aside for you and Emily. It's on the top shelf of my wardrobe."

"Wait – what?" Naomi's up and following her mum out of the kitchen, who clearly found that information an appropriate end to their discussion. "What does Emily have to do with anything?"

"Well, I can only assume that the girl who spends most of her nights in my daughter's room will continue to frequent our house in my absence." It's not really a question but there's something expectant in her tone, the way her mum just sort of trails off with raised eyebrows in Naomi's direction.

So she responds with an eye roll that she's sure her mum's come to expect at this point and scoffs on her way back to the kitchen, "As a parent, you're a bit fucking clueless, you know."

When Gina calls out after her, "Your gratitude is a mother's treasure, love!" she refuses to further engage and instead slumps back into her chair at the table, crunching bitterly on another handful of dry cereal.

* * *

"My mum's lost her fucking mind," is what she says to Emily when she rings her at 11 that morning. "Want to come over?"

"Was there meant to be a correlation between those two things?" Emily asks in that way where Naomi can actually _hear_ that she's smiling, and it does this sickening, twisty thing to her stomach even when she's trying to scowl. Even when she's _actively_ scowling. Her insides just fucking rebel against her at the sound of Emily's stupid, cheerful morning rasp.

So she just says, "Not necessarily."

But then Emily is a bit hesitant when she says, "Katie and I were meant to get lunch, actually. You could meet us?"

Truthfully, Katie's been less of a cunt lately. Though, considering how massive of cunt she'd been before, it's still hard to say that she's really all that pleasant to be around. Even now that she's '_making an effort_,' or so says Emily. Even now that Naomi's so clearly _with_ Emily and not just dicking her around, sneaking off to secluded lakes or hiding in bouncy castles. But Katie's like the Persian mafia or something – and once you've fucked over a member of her family, she's not soon to let you forget.

So it's with a bit of audible hesitation that Naomi sighs because only one half of that equation sounds at all appealing. Still, it's the half that always wins out in the end.

* * *

She beats them to the café and stands against the wall of the shop next to it, foot propped up against the brick and cigarette dangling between her fingers. When she spots them making their way across the street, she crushes the rest of the fag against the wall. Katie's already seemingly affronted as they approach, and Naomi takes a deep breath because they haven't even said hello, for fuck's sake.

"Those things will give you cancer, you know," is apparently how Katie is planning to greet her. Like the only way she's ever known how to deal with Naomi is to go on the attack, straight out the gate.

And she's _really_ trying not to engage – trying to be better for Emily's sake at least – but then one look at Katie's face, challenging as ever in its superiority, and the words, "Well, wouldn't that work in your favour then – knock me off once and for all?" come tumbling out anyway.

"I'm just saying, it's a rather fucking ignorant vice for someone who's supposed to be like, _clever_, or whatever."

"Right – okay, we get it," Emily says, stepping between them. "Thanks for the medical advisory," she finishes with a pointed glance to Katie. Then slips her hand into Naomi's, subsequently extinguishing the retort she'd readied and instead leaves her smiling down into a face she'd been missing all morning. "Hey," she says a second later.

"Hey," Naomi echoes.

And there's a moment. A moment that always passes between them now whenever they meet up. It surges like nervous excitement – makes her hands sweaty and her lips twitch. Makes her face warm and her stomach twist. It's maybe the same energy that's always buzzed between them, except now it's compounded with a knowledge of how Emily tastes. How she feels pressed against her or breathing across her skin. Because now Naomi doesn't stop and wonder what would happen if she gave in, leant down, and pressed her lips to Emily's. She _knows_. And it's maybe why she doesn't.

"Well, I've lost my fucking appetite, thanks."

"Katie," Emily warns, finally looking away from Naomi and back to her sister.

"_What_? You're like, sickening – and I'm not fucking talking about the fact that you've got like, the same parts. But, can you try to not like, undress each other with your eyes, for fuck's sake?"

"Oh sorry, would you prefer I _actually_ start removing her clothes instead? Because you certainly didn't seem to mind Danny putting his hand up your skirt on a daily, fucking occasion."

Emily being confrontational and offhandedly referencing getting her naked does fuck-all to stop the urges Naomi's having to kiss her up against the wall – _any_ wall, really – so she squeezes tighter to the hand she's holding and stifles a laugh when Katie finally seems to concede defeat.

Then a bit gentler, a bit softer, Emily says, "You said you'd be nicer – _better_ about all this."

"I said I'd _try_." Katie crosses her arms, looking away from them, and Emily scoffs.

"And this is you trying?"

"Yeah – obviously! I haven't said a fucking thing about that awful top she's wearing, have I?"

"Cheers, Katie," Naomi smiles back at her, places a hand on her shoulder blade as if to direct them towards the café, which Katie only flinches from minutely. "Rome wasn't built in a day, yeah?"

* * *

During the summer holidays, she likes to go full-on recluse – close off outside influences and bury herself in books and writing projects. She likes to disappear for entire days by herself, seek out parts of Bristol that are less-travelled and not overrun with college students, manic with their newfound freedom. It's how she keeps a handle on how she is, she thinks. When she's spent so much time alone – quiet with her own thoughts and no one else to dampen or change them – she's convinced herself of several sound personal truths. So when she returns to the noisy bustle of school – the ignorant drabble from her undereducated peers and the teachers that fail them – she's more focused, more able to tune out the noise.

"It's _clearly_ about two women. It's brilliant in its unspecified, genderless ambiguity. But, it's a lesbian relationship, hands down."

Except now she doesn't spend her days alone. She spends them with Emily.

"You just _want_ it to be about two women. You're a little biased no?" she counters lightly. "You and every other lesbian who's ever read it?"

"Well, what about you?" Emily's rolled from her back onto her stomach so she can study Naomi's response, and tosses her paperback copy of _Written on the Body_ onto the grass.

"What about me?" Naomi asks, her eyes still closed against the sun.

They've come to the park again because, by some stroke of good fortune, the rain has stayed away for a three-day stretch. And they're spread out on a checked blanket Naomi recognises from the night at the lake. She's always wanted to ask Emily if she brings it to the park because of the memory – because it's somehow their blanket to share – or if it's just the only one Emily's got. But she doesn't ask because she somehow already knows.

Emily's asking a loaded question and Naomi knows it. She, in turn, is deflecting it by answering with a another question. And Emily knows that too. Because this is apparently how they communicate – always having two conversations at once.

"What do you think about the story?"

Emily watches her – watches for her expression to change. Waits for it to seize up or close off. And she can sense it without even looking at her, without even bothering to open her eyes. If she says the protagonist was clearly straight – battling her decisions of love and security between two different men – then she'll leave Emily gutted. Because it'll be the hetero interpretation. It will mean Naomi's still siding with the part of herself that used to fuck boys. That used to fancy them over petite redheads with curious smiles and big, brown eyes. But if she says the protagonist took on a female lover, it will be a lie. Because Naomi's always loved the novel, not for its ability to spawn great rhetoric over gender or sexuality. And not because Winterson – a lesbian author – found a clever way to write about a lesbian relationship. But because it's a love story that never needed defining.

So she rolls over onto her side, facing Emily who's looking just as blatantly expectant as she'd imagined, and leans forward a bit until her lips can graze Emily's with the softest touch. She says, "It's one of my favourites."


	9. Chapter 9: Summer Holiday Pt 2

Dating Emily Fitch is a little bit like running a marathon at a very slow pace.

For the first few legs, she was being pursued, and things felt faster then. Kept her in a constant state of duress, gasping for breaths. Because Emily's pursuits always felt quick, persistent, and like something heavy draped around her shoulders that she couldn't shake off. Even though, in retrospect, that was probably never true.

After the [now infamous] Love Ball, things slowed into a rhythm Naomi was more apt to handle. She realises it's a hell of a lot easier to catch your breath when you stop running for your fucking life. Still, being with Emily – having a girlfriend who consistently does things all the way or not at all – takes a bit of endurance.

She's constantly making plans with which to fill their days. Emily wants to go to the cinema. She wants to spend a day at the park. She wants to learn to cook risotto. There are bands to see and clubs to frequent. There are stolen afternoons in a deserted Fitch house and coffee with Katie. They spend the rainy days in Naomi's bedroom, which requires a different sort of endurance.

So, she's adjusting. And it's not fucking brain surgery or anything, but it does sometimes feel like an equation she's constantly trying to work out. Or a trade she's learning from scratch. Because there's adjusting to be in a relationship – all the typical things like sharing her time, her space, her_self_ with someone else_ – _which apparently a fucking mong can work out because, well, the college is awash in evidence. And then, there's dating Emily fucking Fitch.

"Do you ever wonder why your mum called you Naomi?"

It's a Saturday, and it feels exceptionally lazy. Even more sluggish than their other days of summer, which tend to bleed into one another without a set routine, in that they haven't even dressed for the day and it's half eleven.

"I try not to," she says flatly, half muffled by her pillow.

"I mean, knowing Gina, I suppose it's plausible that she honestly didn't _realise_ she was naming her daughter after a shoe-wielding, volatile supermodel with anger issues," Emily's musing. "Still, a part of me wonders if there's a bit of sadist in her, hidden behind all the organics and sandalwood."

"Are you meaning to suggest that my mum, upon seeing her firstborn child, got some sick thrill from the idea that – for the remainder of my life – I'd be forced to endure scorn and endless taunting?"

"Maybe she did it to fuck with your dad," Emily suggests easily enough.

She scowls, rolls over to face Emily who, she's momentarily forgotten, is not wearing a top, and stutters only mildly as her eyes flit down to her chest, skin bare and lovely as ever.

"See something you like?" Emily smirks.

She's flirting, quite obviously, the way just one eyebrow is crooked up, which Naomi sees when she looks up at her. And it surprises her that Emily's still able to do this – that she can say four stupid words and make every hair follicle on her body tingle – because it's not as if she's not already seen Emily's tits loads of times. It's not as if they don't spend a fair amount of time _naked_ together, for fuck's sake.

Still, she's feeling a bit flustered having been called out for perving, even if she's technically _allowed_ to at this point, so she abandons her initial commentary on her namesake and instead tells her, "The arrogant prick routine doesn't really do it for me, you know."

"Funny," Emily says, still sounding every bit as cocky, as she slips from under the covers and pads over to the bureau in nothing but her knickers. "Somehow I think Cook might have an opinion on that."

So they were having this out again. Lovely.

"You said it didn't bother you." She's propped up on an elbow, watching as Emily pulls out an oversized tee shirt and slips it over her head.

"It doesn't – just having a laugh," she shrugs unconvincingly, brushing her messy, red hair away from her face. "I'm fucking starving – I'm going to make eggs."

She's made it to the door before looking back at Naomi, who's still propped up in the same position and eyeing her carefully. It's the first time she's mentioned it since Naomi had decided – three days prior, on a fucking whim – to come clean about her frantic snog with Cook post-election. Because she's suddenly got these constant urges to be honest with Emily about her thoughts and feelings and her bloody past as well, apparently. She can't explain why it keeps happening but suspects it has something to do with all the sex.

"You coming?" Emily says from the open doorway. It's an invitation but it sounds a bit like a challenge as well, given the throw-away line about Cook she'd just dropped.

So Naomi considers Emily for another moment, considers taking the bait while biting her lip. Finally sighs and moves from the bed.

"Of course I'm coming – you can't properly fry an egg without breaking the fucking yolk," she answers with playful accusation. And Emily allows herself a small grin.

Because sometimes, she thinks, it's safer to fall back on their old dynamic. The one that means Naomi can be a bit of a moody cunt and Emily will take it in stride, knowing she's not really as scary as she'd have people believe.

Naomi pulls on a shirt of her own and grabs a pair of shorts. Steps into them as she makes her way across the room towards Emily. Cook – and the inevitable conversation that is likely to span hours of exhaustive chatter – can wait. Her stomach growls loudly and Emily looks down at it with a broader smile and wide eyes; and suddenly, she doesn't give a flying fuck whether or not they ever talk about Cook or JJ or any other person who's come before.

"What?" Emily asks, indicating that Naomi's just been stood there, looking at her, without saying a thing.

She wants to say, _you're lovely like this – in my clothes, in my house_. She wants to say, _I never wanted Cook or anyone, really, once I'd met you_. She wants to say, _I feel like my chest is going to combust sometimes, just by looking at you, and it scares me so much I could cry on the spot_.

Instead she says, "Nothing. Just famished." And walks towards her until Emily turns and heads for the stairs.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I know - an exceptionally short installment, but it's all I had in me at the moment. I've a few other ideas for chaps along the way to fill in the summer gap and doing them shorter like this hopefully means quicker updates. We'll see. Cheers!


	10. Chapter 10: Summer Holiday Pt 3

They don't talk about Effy. Or, at least, not directly. Sometimes Katie will say things in passing – a wayward remark that's probably _about_ Effy in some way – but they don't say her name. The bruises yellow, disappear first behind concealer, then disappear altogether. And the scar, the one she still catches Katie running over with the tip of her finger, is so close to the hairline you can't see it unless you're looking for it. And Emily doesn't ever look for it – nor look to broach the subject of their final weeks at school. Because it had all, collectively, been a massive, fucking train wreck. And also, partly, because something finally jarred loose in Katie's skull as a result. So that she's no longer a controlling, manipulative bitch, belittling Emily into her shadow [for the most part]. But Emily doesn't bring it up – any of it – because she's just not sure what finally did the trick: the swing she took at Katie during the ball, or the fucking rock.

Either way, it doesn't much matter when they're sat on the floor of their bedroom painting their nails like normal sisters might do.

And then it really doesn't matter once Katie starts asking questions like, "So Naomi's mum has nothing to say about you practically like, _living_ in her house?"

Katie's picked a black varnish with flecks of silver and Emily's debating between a sky blue and vixen red until Katie says, "Ems, no – that red will clash with the fucking shade you insist putting in your hair." At which point she raises her brow challengingly, twists the cap off the red nail varnish and goes to work.

Her sister's let her hair grow darker, more similar to its natural colour. While Emily's keeps getting brighter, redder, louder.

"Gina's nice," she finally answers, glossing over her thumbnail.

"She could be the fucking Dalai Lama – she's still her _mum_, and you're like, shagging her daughter _in her house_. She doesn't have an opinion on that?"

Emily chokes on her laugh when Katie's face twists uncomfortably on the word _shagging_ like she's just bitten into a lemon.

"Well, we don't all sit around the breakfast table discussing it over fucking coffee or anything." Emily shrugs, thinking about Gina. Then thinks about her in some kind of authoritative role, laying down restrictions or house rules and starts laughing again. "She's just not like that. She gives Naomi her space, but she's there, you know, present. I don't know, she's just –" Emily pauses with the tiny brush just hovering above a fingernail and considers Naomi's mum.

"Nice," Katie finishes.

Emily looks up from her nails to see Katie looking at her, and there's something behind her eyes. Something she can't quite read before Katie's dropped her head back down to start her next hand.

So she says, "Yeah." Watches the top of her sister's head for a second, trying to sort out why Katie had been openly curious one moment, then quiet the next.

But it's like this with her now. She's not all brash attitude and zero introspection. Now it comes and goes – that old personality with all its flare and theatrics – like she's learning to balance herself between two completely different people. Like there's still a part of her that wishes she were larger and louder and lusher than everyone else. And an equal part of her that desperately wants to stop trying so hard, and to have things work out anyway.

"Well, no wonder you spend all your time there." Katie says after a while. And there's nothing malicious or accusatory in her tone. It comes out rather bland, like she's one deep sigh away from sounding dejected. She's already finished and is standing up, moving across the room towards the door and waving her hands around in front of her – fingers spread wide – to dry the varnish.

When Emily looks up, she sees only the back of Katie's head and then that is gone too, as she walks out of their room without another word.

She knows Katie probably meant to infer that Emily favours Naomi's over her own house because their mum is everything that Gina is not. Because where Gina is effortlessly warm and kind, Jenna can be exceptionally cruel without even trying.

But then it registers what she saw darkening Katie's eyes in that quick moment, and she slumps back against the bed frame at the realisation. She wonders if Katie doesn't also worry that Emily stays away because of _her_. Wonders if she thinks that Emily's lumped them all together – her parents _and_ Katie – and considers them to be the ones who rejected her. The ones who still disapprove and remain a stark, unkindly contrast to what she's grown to love about Gina and the yellow cottage.

* * *

Emily spends a lot of time telling herself things have improved – that Katie, in particular, has gotten better. She does it to calm the waters between her girlfriend and her sister, who seem unwavering in their mutual quest to prove they love her best. That one could love her better than the other. Or maybe, it's got nothing to do with her at all. Maybe they just enjoy seeing how far one can push the other before someone buckles.

She spends a lot of time thinking about how much Katie has changed in such a short time. What she's never before considered is that Katie spends just as much time thinking that she'll never have changed _enough_, in order to get Emily back.

Two days later, Emily – citing a need to get the fuck out of Bristol – is sat on the sand between Naomi's legs, leant up against her like a lounge chair. The beach at Whitmore Bay is scattered with thousands of pale faces and legs, finally soaking up the summer sun after a long and dreary cold season. When Katie comes back carrying three bottles of coke she pauses, after handing one to Emily and one to Naomi, before sitting next to them.

"What is it?" Emily asks, squinting up at her.

"Do you want me to take your picture?" Katie sort of mumbles, her voice being swept away on the ocean's breeze.

She's stunned for a full four seconds and can actually feel Naomi's stomach tense against her back, so she finally says, "Uh, Naomi hates having her photo taken, actually."

"Oh, that's fucking bollocks," Katie says, sounding much more reminiscent of her usual self and already fishing out her mobile from her purse. "It's not like you're going to look good in a swimming costume forever – might as well have like, proof of it when you're old and fat with saggy tits."

"Did your sister just _compliment_ me?" Naomi says, feigning shock.

"Technically, I think she complimented you then _insulted_ your future self," Emily laughs.

"Fuck off, you two. You're ruining the picture and I'm just trying to be bloody –"

"Nice?" Emily says, trying to catch Katie's eye behind the screen of her mobile.

But she just rolls her eyes, snaps the photo, then sits back down beside them with a sip of her coke. "Whatever."

Naomi rests her chin against Emily's shoulder, lays a quick kiss into the crook of her neck, and for once, Katie doesn't cringe. She's quiet.

* * *

**Author's Note:** These shorter chaps are so fun to write - I hope they are also fun to read? At this rate, the summer may never end, which would mean we can avoid when went down prior to 402 and pretend series 4 never happened. Works for me.


	11. Chapter 11: Summer Holiday Pt 4

**Author's Note:** What's that you say? You'd like some light Naomily fluff & smut to get through your Thursday? Oh, alright then.

Remember when series 4 opened and we were all: Holy shit - naked Emily! But then, we calmed down a bit and realised: Holy shit - that's not the yellow cottage. WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO OUR LOVELY, YELLOW COTTAGE?!

Well, here's what I think about that. Cheers all!

* * *

"What do you mean you're selling the house mum? It's our _house_." She emphasises the last word as if this will somehow resonate with her mother, who's clearly gone mad.

"You're off to uni next year, I'm no longer housing vagrants, and I just don't need so much space. I'm downsizing," she responds lightly, taking a sip of tea.

Naomi, jaw still slightly agape, looks to Emily who shrugs uselessly, then rolls her eyes as she stands from the sofa and stalks out of the room.

"She's very adaptive, that one." Gina winks at Emily, who is still sat on the sofa, like the idea of Naomi storming away from her is so routine at this point she can't even be arsed to follow her.

"I've always thought so," Emily smiles. "So where will you go? Have you started looking?"

"Kieran and I drove around a bit weekend last, but I'm not too worried with that. I've no doubt some place will pop up when we're ready."

"_Emily_, can you fucking come _here_ please?" Naomi's rather loud request makes its way into the sitting room from where she's stood at the top of the stairs.

Emily sighs, places both hands onto the sofa before pushing herself up and looks to Naomi's mum before saying, "Well, this should be fun."

* * *

It's mid-June before Gina's earlier ramblings on selling the house come to fruition. And leave it to her mum to choose the one, sodding week when Bristol is unseasonably humid for the move to take place. So she's miserable, absolutely fucking _irate_ about the prospect of hauling boxes and furniture in a heat wave that's already making the fabric of her top stick against her stomach, and she hasn't done so much as walk from the pavement to the front door of their new home.

"This is fucking bollocks – I'm sweating my tits off already and it's barely gone nine in the fucking morning." She's slumped against the door, waiting for Gina to fumble around for the right key, and Emily is standing across from her, _smiling_ at her – hands propped easily on her waist like she's just endlessly amused by Naomi's state of misery. Emily's shirt is _not_ damp, and her hairline is _not_ beaded in sweat so, in a flash of insecurity, Naomi scowls at her, "Don't you ever fucking _perspire_?"

"Yeah," Emily says with one eyebrow raised, "under the right conditions."

"_Pervert_," Naomi hisses in a whisper as her mum finally comes bouncing up the walk, dangling a key triumphantly between her thumb and forefinger.

But Emily just grins, folds her arms along her stomach, and waits for the tint of pink she knows is seconds away from colouring Naomi's cheeks. Which of course, it bloody does.

Gina stands between them, inserting the key into the lock and sighing dramatically. "Here we go girls. I can feel a good energy here, Naomi . I really can."

"Yeah? Well I can feel sweat sliding down my arse so if you don't mind, could we hurry this little Namaste moment along already?"

"Oh Christ, Naomi," is all Gina says as she pushes open the door and walks ahead of them into the dark house.

But it's Emily who catches her eye and mouths the word _hot_, earning herself a dirty look and a solid push against her shoulder as Naomi shoves past her into the house. To which Emily – who's apparently the happiest, fucking person in scorching heat – just laughs in response and follows behind her.

* * *

Naomi's sprawled out against her bare mattress when Emily enters the room holding two glasses of ice water. She groans when Emily holds one out to her and doesn't move to take the glass even a little.

"You're pathetic," Emily says and plops onto the mattress beside her, tucking one leg up under the other. She takes three gulps of water before using the back of her hand to wipe moisture that's gathered on her forehead.

"This is breaking child labour laws – I'm sure of it."

"You're eighteen," Emily answers, smiling down at her.

"My concern is for _you_, obviously."

Emily closes her eyes and nods once. "Obviously." Then takes stock of the new room, its contents currently askew, stacked boxes and furniture crammed along the walls. "It's nice."

Naomi grunts in response so Emily sets the two glasses of water onto the floor and changes tactics.

"Care to christen it?" There's mischief written all over her face as Naomi eyes her, a cheeky smile just peeking over her shoulder from where she's sat on the bed. And then she's swung one leg over her own, moving to straddle her. Places two hands flat onto the mattress on either side of her.

"No! Christ – it's too fucking hot, Emily." When her smile broadens, this perfectly lovely face just hovering above her and wisps of bright red falling down from where Emily had pulled it back into a loose ponytail, Naomi works hard at keeping a straight face and insists, "I'm _serious_. Fucking, get off."

It's a feeble attempt at best, the way she's pushed back against Emily's stomach and shoulder. But then Emily's not been left sluggish by all the heat and manual labour, apparently, because she's quick to grab Naomi's wrists and pin her arms back against the mattress.

The protest dies in her throat then, when Emily leans down to kiss her. It's slow and lazy – if not rather filthy – and precisely the kind of kiss she's never been able to protest, actually. And Emily keeps on kissing her, keeps sucking on her bottom lip and moving herself at a terribly slow pace against her legs, right up until Naomi starts resisting the hold she's got on her wrists because if she can't touch her, grab at her, tug at her clothing soon, she's likely to fucking scream. Which is when Emily pulls back – gives her a victorious smirk before kissing the hot, salty skin of her neck and jawline.

"Em," she practically breaths out, in-between hard gulps of air.

"Sorry," Emily answers just hovering above her left ear. "You want me to stop?"

"Can you just –" she exhales, knowing full well she's fucking lost because Emily _never_ plays fairly "—can you at least close the fucking door?"

Emily slides off her in an instant, takes two backwards steps towards the door without breaking eye contact, before kicking it shut with her foot. And it's nearly instinctual then – as if she's lost any control she once had – the way Naomi is up off the bed and crashing them both against the closed door.

"Someone's suddenly eager," Emily manages to say before Naomi essentially says _shut the fuck up_ against her mouth.

And she rarely takes Emily like this anymore – roughly, urgently, like if she slows down she'll have to sort out the whats and whys of it all. It's so often slower now, and she likes what it says about them, that. That they're able to take their time with each other. She loves how fucking Emily can be something slow and calculated – something she can now take her time with to perfect and enjoy. She doesn't have to strip her quick and work fast and hard towards the good bits, because the feelings behind it don't frighten her nearly as much these days.

Still, she thinks as she clutches the damp material of Emily's vest top, pulling it swiftly over her head and dropping it to the floor, if she's going to '_christen_' the room, she's bloody well going to do it properly.

Emily picks up the rhythm of things pretty quickly, pushing herself off the door until Naomi steps back, and then she's grabbing at her top to work it up and off. Though without a clear path back to the bed, they're just bumping against rogue boxes and bedside tables until the backs of Naomi's knees meet the corner of her mattress.

She's laughing against Emily's lips as they fall back, resituate arms and legs while fumbling for buttons and zips, their skin still sticky, their hair still damp from humidity and exertion. She works her hand between Emily's legs, rests their foreheads together when her fingers dip into wet folds so that puffs of breath keep crossing between them. Emily grabs for her shoulders, for the flesh of her ribs. Wraps her hands around her neck and pulls her closer so that when Naomi kisses her, Emily can moan into her mouth instead of letting it echo into open air.

She's sweating more after they've finished, can see it glistening in the bend of her elbow and across the flat of her stomach. Emily's laid flat beside her on the mattress, both panting happily and grinning like idiots. Emily lolls her head towards her, waits for Naomi to do the same, then moves a hand to brush a strand of hair – now grown longer in loose curls – from her face.

"Heat's not so bad," she says and Naomi raises her brow sceptically. To which Emily smirks, "When you're naked anyway."


	12. Chapter 12: Summer Holiday Pt 5

**Author's Note:** Christ, I've not written in so long. I'll give no excuses since I tend to feel they are usually empty and useless and instead leave you with this. I promise I haven't neglected the Keffy fic either [ahem, fookyeah, keep your pants on], and will try to update that fic this week as well. We'll see. Hope we can still be friends now that I've finally, fucking updated. Cheers!

* * *

Nothing tumultuous happens for quite some time. Naomi thinks, statistically, they must've reached some quotient for the time being, which is why everything seems to be so fucking breezy. She'd always heard – and on occasion even witnessed, most unfortunately – that being _loved up_ meant experiencing some kind of blind happiness. Though clearly, her dedicated cynicism and rather bleak outlook on all things love and bliss has left her thoroughly unprepared for her life at present.

Because, as things happen, Emily isn't enjoyable company _most_ of the time – she's rather, fucking enjoyable to be around _all_ of the time. And while the prospect of spending that much uninterrupted time with someone at first frightened and then overwhelmed her, it's now clear she's completely resigned herself to keeping in close proximity to Emily for as long as this thing lasts.

"You're staring," Emily says just over her shoulder while stirring sugar into Naomi's cup of tea.

When Emily turns to face her from where she's stood and leans back against the edge of the kitchen counter, Naomi's wearing this smile that's all confidence and warmth. And when Emily returns it, as she does every, single time, the temperature in the tiny kitchen raises a few degrees.

"So I am," she hears herself say, brazen and cocky, like she can't even fucking remember a time when she might have responded differently: defensive protests or embarrassed stuttering.

Which isn't to say she doesn't still have moments of panic – though it's a more focused sort of anxiety and less free-floating as it had been before. She still worries about the end of this. She still worries that their luck will tap out and hates to think on with what they'll be left. Which can't be much – and really, she can't honestly expect to be left with anything at all. Because this right now – this morning like so many other mornings – where Emily curls into her lap, kissing lightly along her neck until the tea she's prepared turns lukewarm and undesirable, this feels like everything.

* * *

"Katie wants to hang out."

Emily is sat on the bed chipping at the colour on her fingernails, a habit which is both unsanitary [since it's where they sleep, for fuck's sake] and annoying, given the sound it creates. And though she's asked several times before that this be done _elsewhere_, Naomi just sighs and moves towards the bathroom without responding.

And Emily's "Naomi – what the fuck?" follows her out of the room.

When she returns, seconds later, she lightly tosses the varnish remover onto the bed and raises her eyebrows until Emily's smile turns sheepish.

"You were saying?"

"Well, she should come over, right? I mean, your mum's away – not that it matters any – but, I don't know, could be fun to just hang out here? Cook dinner, drink wine, you know, be adults."

"Be _adults_ – fucking hell, Ems, you're currently removing grey varnish from your nails called 'cocktail bling.' How am I expected to take your dinner and wine proposition seriously?"

Emily scowls for about a half-second before acquiescing with, "Alright, we'll order pizza and shoot tequila. Satisfied?"

Naomi makes a face and runs her tongue along the roof of her mouth. Shakes her head a bit from side to side when she says, "I'm off tequila for a while, thanks."

"Oh. Right," Emily laughs making her best expression of sympathy. "Sorry – still haven't recovered from our last Mexican fiesta?"

"I may never," she answers, rubbing small circles on her stomach. "But dinner, in general, is a good idea."

"Even with my darling sister?" Emily asks, dramatically rolling out the word _darling_ while chancing a look up at Naomi.

"Yeah, of course – it'll be great. Katie and me, we're good chums these days." Emily rolls her eyes, focuses back on removing the 'cocktail bling' from her thumb. "Anyway, you haven't seen her in a few days, yeah?"

"Try five."

"Don't exaggerate."

"I'm not – Thomas was spinning on Thursday, which is when we last met up with Katie and she got so plastered I had to take her home. And Friday is that last time I've been home."

"Yeah, so?" Naomi crinkles her forehead, still waiting for the punch line.

"It's Wednesday."

"Christ."

"Yeah."

"Well, that's bloody astounding, isn't it?" Naomi leans back into her desk chair, runs both hands through her hair.

"What?" Emily asks, now eyeing her curiously.

"That I've managed to put up with you for that long a stretch."

The pillow hurled from the bed misses her completely, but she flinches and laughs just the same because it's absolutely hilarious – all of it. That they're planning to host dinners like a couple of newlyweds. That all her memories – like blacking out on tequila and throwing up in random alleys on her walk home – are now infinitely tied up with someone else, and how that's something she's never really had. That Emily's kept count of the time they're together, and that for once, she hasn't.

* * *

Katie shows up with wine instead of hard liquor, no doubt appealing to Emily's mature dinner theme, but the two pizzas seem to balance things out and by the time Naomi's produced a joint from a wooden box by the TV stand, all hopes for adulthood are as good as gone.

Typically, Emily gets really introspective when she's stoned – contemplating life's great mysteries and meanings. But with Katie present, she's abandoned all that in lieu of contagious laughter. That's what Katie's moods are, Naomi thinks: catchy. Like the only reason they'd ever really loathed each other in the first place is because Katie chose some stupid, juvenile vendetta and to reciprocate was far too alluring for Naomi to decline.

Except now there is no hatred, no threat. Now they're just clustered on the small floor space of the sitting room - all laid out at awkward angles - passing spliff between them, and Naomi hears her own laughter as only complimentary echoes to that of Katie and Emily's. She thinks it's a lot like that ridiculous pyjama party when, for a moment, Katie forgot they were meant to be enemies and it was all silly children's games and vagina jokes. But then Emily reaches back, runs her fingers along the soft underside of Naomi's upper arm where her hands are stretched up over her head. The sensation would be so much greater had they not just smoked, so instead Naomi's head just rolls lazily towards Emily who's not even looking at her anyway, both their laughs dying out slowly with high-pitched sighs. Of course Katie _is_ looking because she's trying to pass the joint back, but before Naomi can manage to work her hand back from up over her head – a rather large feat when one's limbs feel like weighted jelly – she's already stubbed it into the ashtray on the coffee table.

"I'm going out to smoke," Katie announces, standing to her feet with only minimal struggle.

"We just smoked, you fucking daft cow," Emily is laughing, eyes fluttering shut as her fingers again find the skin of Naomi's arm.

"I need a fag – which one of you has a pack?"

"You don't smoke," Emily answers, now with a slight scowl.

"Yeah? Well maybe I fucking do," Katie says, finally spotting Naomi's cigarettes next to the telly.

The front door clicks shut a moment later and suddenly Naomi's throat is aching for a fag. Emily's angle on the floor is perpendicular to her so that when Naomi attempts to sit up, her head spins a bit before locating Emily's hands and arms and lips.

"Be right back," she says, pulling away when Emily threatens a pout she knows she's not likely to refuse. "Just want to check on Katie."

"You just want a fag – don't pretend to be gallant," Emily smiles without bothering to open her eyes.

She finds Katie hunched over on the front steps, a lit fag in her hand.

"Shit, you really are smoking."

Katie makes a noise of disgust as Naomi takes a seat beside her, reaching for the cigarette pack between them.

"These things are fucking awful – I can't imagine that anyone actually _enjoys_ them."

Naomi takes a long drag and exhales loudly as if to prove a point, to which Katie rolls her eyes and flicks the ash from her own fag without getting rid of it.

It's quiet for several long seconds before Katie speaks. "So this is how it's going to be then?" When Naomi responds with nothing but a confused expression, she continues, "I mean you and Ems. This is it?"

"I don't really know what you're asking, Katie."

"I mean, you're not going to fuck off again is what I fucking mean."

Naomi coughs a bit on her next exhale, the smoke getting barely lodged at the back of her throat. "I've no plans to, no."

"Well, isn't that reassuring," Katie says drolly, attempting again a pathetic drag of her own.

The air is warm and thick, like at any minute the skies could open up and drench everything.

"What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing. Forget it." Katie looks off in the distance, her voice now faraway too.

Naomi takes three more pulls off her fag, each one less satisfying than the previous, before watching Katie roll the filter of her cigarette between her thumb and forefinger. It's not even lit really, just burning out in slivers of smoke.

"I mean, what's different anyway – just two months ago you were a total cunt to her –"

"So says you," Naomi counters, though it's light enough that Katie doesn't explode on her entirely. "You have to know that was only part of it, right?"

She just sighs, finally flicking the end of her fag onto the pavement. "What changed then?"

Naomi shrugs, watches a car pass in front of the house and waits for the street to again fall silent. "I stopped giving a shit about a lot of things I thought mattered, and in turn, started caring about the things that did."

Katie laughs at that – not the kind of loud, uncontrollable laughter Naomi's been privy to all night, but something different, something organic. Like the kind of laugh that catches you by surprise.

"What?" she asks, feeling only marginally self-conscious realising just what she'd shared and who with, for that matter.

Katie looks back to the street in front of them, shaking her head. When she looks back to Naomi, her eyes have gone dramatically wide and bright and a crooked smile that could nearly be Emily's plays at her lips. "You're _so_ romantic, Campbell."


	13. Chapter 13: Summer Holiday Pt 6

**Author's Note:** Hello lovely people! A few quick words from your old mate, Script. I've not updated this story as often as I'd like because I've not felt particularly inspired on it, and I loathe writing that doesn't come from a place of inspiration - Emily and Naomi, they deserve better, yeah? That being said, once I started writing I did fall into this and feel okay with it in the end. The premise of this tidbit was actually prompted by a conversation with **niceoneblondie** awhile back, and I sat on it for quite some time, unsure of whether it'd actually get written. So, Blondie, I hope I haven't fucked it up.

Also, cheers to **Pita** for the spectacularly entertaining email today - here is my end of the bargain.

* * *

Naomi is good at deflecting. She's well practiced in shirking her own mum, who's always so bloody interested and invested in her life, it often feels like the Spanish Inquisition. And she's got absolutely _zero_ hesitancy in telling perfect strangers to fuck off for any number of reasons.

What she's not yet learnt, is how to say no to Emily.

Or, at least, not in the context that they currently exist. Because she used to be very good at it: refusing her. Walking away, turning her head, averting her eyes. Even saying to her, in no uncertain terms: '_I don't want to do that.'_ Practically rolled off her fucking tongue.

Except now things are quite different, obviously.

Emily's not lain naked in her bed because they've just sneaked off, had some clandestine fuck in the middle of a school day. She's curled up in her bed clothes, naked beneath them, and leafing a magazine – a trashy one that she's no doubt nicked from Katie – as casual as ever. Not naked and caressing or basking in the sex they've just had, because they haven't, not in at least four hours. Just naked and fucking _reading_.

And it's routine now, this sort of leisurely, unclothed behaviour. Which is nice, mostly, and feels like something she's always wanted – to be able to be like this, lounged about and no longer frantic or rushed or scared. But also makes it incredibly difficult to deny Emily anything, _ever_, like for example, the request to spend an afternoon with her dad. At their _house_.

"Come on, my dad likes you, yeah? We don't have to stay long or anything. I just haven't seen him in a while, and I'm starting to feel a bit shit about it."

Emily doesn't look away from the mag for more than a quick second – not nearly long enough to catch the look of apprehension, the way Naomi's face says everything. That she wants to say no. That she desperately wants to put up a fight, but can't. That she bites the corner of her lip instead and thinks about how pretty this hour of the sun looks as it reflects off Emily's hair.

"You'll come then, won't you?"

When Emily looks at her, it's as good as over. All the fight in her gone limp. And she wonders, briefly, if it will always be this way. So long as she can see the bared slope of Emily's shoulder, the way the rose-coloured duvet rests in gaps along her breasts, it likely fucking will be.

Naomi sighs, closes her eyes and nods once. When she opens her eyes again, Emily's much closer and kisses her so quickly she's barely had time to return the gesture before Emily's slipped from the bed in search of clothes.

"I've got to get home, but I'll ring you later, okay?"

"Yeah." Her voice comes out sounding soft and desperate, but Emily just smiles because to her, Naomi thinks, it might just sound content.

Emily picks through clothing littering the floor, pulls on random bits that are hers but have gathered over time, and Naomi thinks about whether Katie – always keen on fashion – ever notices the way Emily leaves the house wearing one thing and returns wearing something else entirely.

It's been a bit of trial and error, this being with Emily. And though she's not yet worked out how to tell her _everything_ – like how the thought of being around the Fitch house makes the back of her throat itch – she has gotten better about saying what she wants, out loud. She's learning how to ask for things and Emily makes it easy because there is very little, Naomi thinks, that she wouldn't do for her. And it's a fucking lovely dynamic, that.

So before Emily's located her second shoe – the green, shiny pair that even still make Naomi nostalgic like a soppy, twat – she says, "Hey." And Emily peeks up from where she's crouched, searching under the bed.

"Have you seen my shoe?" She begins pulling things from under the bed – books, empty bottles, old socks.

"Hey," Naomi repeats, biting back her smile at Emily, who's still scowling about for her stupid, green shoe. "Come here," she says, very purposefully inching up from under the covers so Emily's got no choice but to look.

Her mouth says, "I can't stay," even as she moves closer to the bed, drops the shoe back to the floor and allows herself to be pulled in, Naomi grinning as the distance vanishes.

"Just for a bit," Naomi tells her. It's all she's ever really wanted from Emily – for her to stay, for a bit.

"Katie'll go mental if I don't turn up for supper," Emily's saying, tracing her fingers along Naomi's sternum, down the skin of her arms.

"Katie will go mental if she misses a sale at Boots," Naomi smiles into a lingering kiss, one that relaxes Emily completely, makes it far too easy for Naomi to recline them farther. "Hardly a good baseline to affect your decision on things you should or shouldn't do, Emily."

"They're going to disown me, you know," Emily says, and though she's smiling, there's truth behind it.

Naomi pushes back the hem of her shirt, pushes back the thought, any thought, and kisses Emily's skin because this is what she wants to remember. This is why she needs Emily to stay.

It's starts out as a familiar ploy to keep Emily for herself – to have a little extra time with Emily's skin under her palms. It starts out with long kisses and devilish smiles when Emily shudders under her touch.

But the pace quickens then, Naomi feeling some familiar pang of urgency. It crops up in her chest and reverberates there – this nervous, pulsing energy – every time she's got to let Emily go. Every time Emily slips away for time with Katie, for family dinners, for a clean change of clothes. And she's become rather adept at ignoring it, staying quiet and still, while watching her pack up to leave. Because it's not rational, this longing, and she doesn't like the way it threatens to overtake her. She feels stronger, in fact, for being able to live with it – feels stronger for Emily, who doesn't need anyone else threatening to pull her apart. For that, she's got Katie. She's got Jenna.

So it's a bit unnerving then, when she feels the panic surging, when she feels herself practically _clinging_ to Emily, because it's something she's assumed was well under control.

It's not until Emily's fingers wrap around hers, pulling them up from where she'd been working the latch of Emily's skirt, that she notices they're shaking.

"Hey." Emily's voice tows this line between a deep rasp and soft whisper, and if she looks at her directly, Naomi knows she'll cry on the spot. So she buries into Emily's neck and shoulder where it's warm and smells of something calming like tea tree oils.

"Hey – what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she answers quickly. Then repeats it, in case the first time sounded as unconvincing as it felt. "I just – I don't want you to go, okay?"

Vulnerability has always felt worse than everything else – loneliness, isolation, ridicule, heartbreak. But then Emily just wraps around her – hands and arms and legs that often feel nearly half her own size – and she folds into the embrace because the panic starts to subside. Because Emily won't leave, at least not right away. Because the awful feeling of vulnerability has so clearly been replaced by the fear of being without her.

* * *

"Emily – oh, didn't expect to see you, dear," Gina greets them, or _Emily_, rather, as they descend the stairs hours later. "Thought you'd run home earlier."

"Yeah, I called Katie actually." Emily enters the kitchen first, while Naomi trickles in behind her, _sheepishly_, like the longer she avoids eye contact with her mum the less likely she's to see through Emily's blatant lie. "Turns out dinner's not such a big fuss after all."

They're stood side-by-side now, just leant up against one side of the small kitchen, where Naomi starts to tinker with a wooden spoon while Emily just shoots her quick glances from the corner of her eye.

"Ah, I see."

When Naomi looks up, sees her mum just fucking _watching_ them like a pair of thieves, it's clear the ruse is up. Because Emily's about the least likely person to tell a good lie, and the fact that her own face probably matches Emily's hair at this point isn't doing much good either.

Naomi clears her throat, casts one, wayward glance to Emily, who's got her lip between her teeth, and says, "So, I'll set the table."

"Yeah, I'll help." Emily scurries closely behind, both girls hurrying past Gina even as she turns her attention back to the stove, her head slowly shaking from side to side.

* * *

It's one thing to enter the Fitch house – Emily on her arm or clutching her hand or, at least, by her side. But it's something entirely different going it alone, approaching the fortress as a lone soldier. And the fact that Naomi's done it only twice before speaks volumes. Because she's not one to shy away; she doesn't frighten easily. At least, it's what she's always told herself.

She makes it as far as the corner, a corner she knows well for how often she's both met and left Emily there – the side of the street that's bathed in lamplight at night. But in the middle of the day it's all very ordinary, except for that it's the farthest point from Emily's where the house is still visible. One step closer, it grows in size until she's stood directly in front. One step back, and it disappears entirely.

So she's got one hand on the lamppost, rocking the arches of her feet on the kerb, like a fucking kindergartner. Her other hand clutches her mobile, a jittery thumb sweeping back and forth over the call button.

They're meant to meet at the house. It's _the plan_. It's what they discussed on the phone last night after Emily actually had gone home. It's what she's been preparing for since she woke up – ridiculously early and instantly alert. And Jenna's not even home. She's at the salon pulling double shifts because Saturdays, apparently, are the prime slots for a dye job or a fanny wax. Still, her stomach is full of sick, just threatening at any moment to expel onto the pavement at her feet. The visual makes her stop rocking on her arches. Makes her think of Effy and the way she'd gotten sick all over her sneakers from just the idea of love – how she'd not even said it _out loud_ and still vomited as a result.

She's still caught on thoughts of Effy – how she's lost track of the weeks since her and Cook fucked off and how her attempts at reaching them have waned significantly – when her phone starts to buzz. And there's something fucking poetic about how it's Emily that's broken up her concern for Effy yet again.

"Hey."

"Where are you? I thought you'd be here by two," Emily asks, as easily as the sun shines.

"Yeah, I'm –" Naomi stops, thinks how best to let her down. Thinks about whether that's even fucking possible. "I can't."

"What?"

There are sounds of Emily moving, and Naomi quickly considers moving farther down the street, heading in the direction of home, in the event that Emily's walked outside and could, well, _see_ her at this point. But then, it's not like she's trying to hide from _Emily_.

"I just – I can't today, Ems. Can't you just have the day with your dad and then come over later?"

"That's fucking great, Naomi – you're cancelling plans at the hour you're meant to _be_ here." She sounds well agitated and while Naomi can't blame her, she's not sure how to abate the blow either.

It's something she's not had to say for quite some time, but it sounds just as trite and useless as it always did when she says, "I'm sorry, Em."

"Where are you?"

Fuck. Shattering Emily's precious Saturday is one thing, lying to her is quite another.

"I'm near yours."

"_Where_, Naomi?"

Her voice, very small, very defeated finally admits, "At the corner."

"Christ – I'll be right there."

She's hurrying down the pavement seconds later, and Naomi collapses her weight against the lamppost at the sight. Because Emily's got on an _actual_ outfit – like something planned and matchy and _adorable_ – and her hair's all done up and the shine of her lip gloss is Naomi's favourite, fucking shade.

"What's all this?" Emily asks at the look on Naomi's face. She takes one of her hands then steps in close so that Naomi's essentially pinned between the post and a look of concern.

"You look nice," she says with a small smile. Emily up close is even more impressive, and it's funny how seeing her both fully unclothed as well as done up in nice dresses can have very similar effects.

"Yeah?" Emily's eyes sweep down and back up. "So do you – is that what you're worried about? Because I've literally _never_ seen my dad in anything besides fitness tees and trainers, and –"

"No, it's not that."

Naomi swallows, buying time, looks off down the street in the opposite direction of the Fitch's in hopes of some reprieve.

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on." It's terrifying, at times, when Emily's tone is the only necessary reminder that she's indeed related to Katie.

It's long minutes before Naomi's worked up a response, and even then it's got to be prompted by a small tug of Emily's hand linked with her own.

"I came to your house one morning. By myself. I mean, you were here, or _there_, rather – you were in the house, but we weren't. Well, it was before – before, you know," she pulls both their hands up so that Emily's got to look down at them, "this."

Emily doesn't say anything, just crinkles up her face like she's still trying to work out what the fuck Naomi's on about.

"First time I met your mum, actually." Emily's look of confusion softens into something more like sympathetic horror. "So it's not that I don't want to see your dad, okay? It's just – well, I still get a bit sick thinking about coming to your house."

Emily takes a beat to just breathe out.

"She was awful to you." She sounds so sad when she says it, it's no wonder Emily also drops her head so as not to meet Naomi's eyes.

She doesn't ask what was said, doesn't press for details over how Jenna reacted. And it's probably some kind of instinctual preservation of family ties – ones that are already tattered and thinning where Emily and her mum are concerned.

"About as kind as ever," Naomi answers, trying to lighten her tone.

"When?"

"What?"

"When was this?" Emily's looked back up – looks like she's trying again to work it out.

"Just before the dance," Naomi answers cautiously. "At the end of term."

"Oh." And then something else registers and Emily echoes her own, "_Oh_."

"You'd left crying, and I let you go like a stupid twat – made you upset in the first place, of course – and I just wanted to see if you were okay," Naomi exhales, feels her own hand tighten around Emily's.

"I never knew you did that, came here."

"Yeah, well, I can't imagine your mum was too eager to share our visit with you."

Emily holds her eye a bit then squints off down the street towards her house. When she looks back at her, she leans up and kisses the corner of Naomi's mouth.

"So, you want to get out of here then?"

"No, Emily – your dad, he's been looking forward to this."

"Do you know what my dad's guilty pleasure is? Like, he's this massive fitness junkie, right? But do you know the one thing he can't give up? Milkshakes."

"Milkshakes?"

"Goes fucking _mental_ for them. And mum never keeps dairy in the house so if he's going to get a fix, a well-timed trip to Shakeaway is the only solution."

Emily's cheeky smile is so infectious, Naomi struggles to keep her own expression from looking too pleased. "You're going to lure your dad into town with forbidden milkshakes just so I don't have to hang out at your house?"

"That's the idea, yeah. Come on then."

Emily tugs again at their joined hands, starts to move towards her house only to have Naomi tug back this time. It's an unfair advantage – height-wise – that causes Emily to stumble backwards, Naomi catching her sides with her hands.

"_Jesus_," Emily is laughing, "you're going to make me fall."

Naomi kisses her once like _I love you_. Twice like _I'll show you just how much later on_. And a third time like the cars and neighbours and birds and unlit streetlamps have ceased to exist and _there is just me and you and this feeling for as long as we can stand it_.


	14. Chapter 14: Summer Holiday, The Close

**Author's Note:** Thought I forgot this fic existed, didn't you? Well, colour you foolish then because I could never, would never, forget to finish my first attempt at writing Naomily. And it does sort of feel like an ending to me. For now. Summer's through, which leaves only a looming final year of sixth form; and I don't know about you, but I'm at emotional capacity what with 'Fire' on the horizon [press photos, interviews, what have you]. And the idea of attempting to revisit fucking Sophia and fucking John Foster is so daunting there isn't enough xanax in the world.

What I'm saying is, I'm not going to do an IBTS for series 4. What I'm not saying, is that this is where the story ends. I have a potential idea bouncing around on furthering this, taking Naomily [and the others] into their final year, but I'm not yet ready to commit to anything just yet. So for now, I'll just say again, this has been so much fucking fun and I'll see you lot back over at ROYL. Cheers! SM

* * *

Once Emily gets it into her head, there's literally no derailing her.

She develops a one-tracked mind not unlike the time she decided they should try a hand at making jam. An epic [and terribly messy] failure of which Naomi still finds remnants when she's giving the kitchen a particularly thorough scrub-down one day.

They've less than a fortnight until the resume of college, and it seems Emily is clinging to the irresponsibility of their summer abandon with or without Naomi's consent.

"How do you plan to pay for it exactly?" Naomi asks, her arms crossed, her eyes squinting against the early afternoon sun.

Emily just keeps circling the thing like a vulture, practically lecherous as her fingers trail over its smooth, metal surfaces.

A moped. A fucking _motorbike,_ practically, that requires actual petrol and actual gear like helmets and protective eyewear. And not that she considers Emily to be incapable – it'd go against every feminist bone in her body to admit that she worries of her girlfriend's fragility. Still, Emily is very small and not exactly a paragon of coordination.

"I've got some saved away," she answers without making eye contact.

"For traveling after college, yeah? Mexico? Barcelona? The fucking _Caribbean_? What happened to that plan then?"

"Oh we're going to travel," Emily smiles. "In _style_."

Naomi rolls her eyes, reaches for Emily's wrist and gently tugs until they're heading away from the lot and the sodding moped before the pervy tosser trying to sell it can make his way towards them and ogle her girlfriend's tits for the third time in as many weeks. And those are just the trips Naomi's been forced to make _with_ Emily. God knows how often she's been stopping by on her own, lusting after some horrible scrap of orange metal with Naomi none the wiser.

"Come on, we'll be late meeting Katie."

* * *

Katie's annoyed expression from where she's sat inside a Costa Coffee lands directly on Naomi [as per usual] once they've pushed through the front door, Emily still happily aloof and trailing behind her where their fingers are loosely linked.

"She made us stop off at the fucking moped again," Naomi offers with a sigh while Katie's mouth just hangs open, a complaint on their punctuality no doubt poised to fire at any second.

Katie pushes her straw around in what looks like some frozen, caramel, coffee concoction and rolls her eyes. This time, at least, her obvious disdain directed at the right, fucking person. "Ems, for fuck's sake, let it go."

"No one asked for your input, Katie." Emily says lightly enough, and plops into a chair across from her sister, next to the window. "Will you get me one of those strawberry and crème things – oh, but ask for soy, yeah?" Emily asks, wrapping an arm around Naomi's waist, who's still stood fishing money from her back pocket.

When Naomi returns to the table – a fruity frozen drink for Emily and something with loads of caffeine for herself – the topic of conversation seems to have stilted at the moped; and it's unclear which one of the twins is at fault for refusing to move on, but it's gotten heated nonetheless.

"It's a waste of fucking money is what it is!" Katie's managed to suck back a majority of her drink, and Naomi thinks it's likely she opted for those extra shots of espresso they offer for how loud she's being. Even for Katie.

"You know," Emily smiles ruefully, taking her first sip as Naomi sits beside her, "I can't believe _you two_ are actually in agreement on this. Pretty sad, really. Where's your sense of adventure?" And then she just looks between the two – her girlfriend and her sister, who would mostly rather die than fall on the same side of any argument – as if waiting to see who'll cave first to offer her support.

And it's uncomfortable for a full three seconds, Katie and Naomi maintaining eye contact while wearing expressions of mild disgust, merely because to look away would somehow be consenting defeat. But then Katie just scoffs, takes another pull off her drink.

"Whatever – ride the thing to fucking China for all I care. Just don't come begging me for like, an organ donation when you've crashed the bloody thing."

* * *

Later that night, in bed, Emily brings it up again. She's just finished giving Naomi an exceptionally vocal orgasm – which is something they're still getting used to, not keeping quiet, since it's rarer now to actually see Gina than it is to have her home – and is laid into her side, head on her shoulder. Naomi's mind is adrift as her breathing slows, thinking about orgasms, which is topical based on what they've just done to each other, but also sort of jarring when she concentrates on Emily's orgasms _specifically_. Because she's not often thought of them as separate from her own, or from anyone's, or from just getting off in general. Except recently – and perhaps in some roundabout, twisted way she's got her mum to thank since Emily's lost all sense of reservation in an empty house – she _has_ been thinking about it.

Naomi thinks about how Emily gets loud when it's good, but quieter when it gets _really_ good. How she sounds so desperate with these strained, little moans, these high-pitched gasps, and how it makes her sound so much like – a _girl_. It shouldn't come as a shock because the tits are sort of a dead giveaway, let alone the bits that Naomi's fondled and explored and tasted more times than she can count. But it is, kind of. Because when she's worked Emily up to that point where she's no longer able to use profanity, or words at all, and instead just lets slip these little noises on which Naomi now muses, all she can think is: I'm fucking _a girl_. It's so much more arousing a concept than she'd ever thought it would be – even more so than in the beginning when nearly everything about Emily could get her going without much effort – she almost starts touching or kissing or moving on top of her again out of pure need, when Emily speaks, breaking her concentration.

Her voice is back to its rough texture that still causes Naomi to shiver if she's caught off-guard. Which she is, her mind still stuck somewhere between the noises Emily makes and the ways in which she's learned to elicit them, when Emily says, "It'd be fun, wouldn't it?"

"Hmm?" Naomi distractedly answers, her hands still twitchy to pin Emily back against the mattress.

"The moped – it'd be fun, _and_ resourceful for like, groceries and getting to college and stuff. Plus I could practice loads before taking it downtown or anything."

"Emily," Naomi sighs. It's about as much fight as she's got left in her at this point.

"There's that car park that's always empty on Sundays – we could take it there until I get comfortable, you know?" She's strained her neck a bit, leaning up to kiss just below Naomi's ear, and it's such unfortunate timing that Naomi's already so turned on. "_Please_?"

"This is horribly manipulative, you know."

And Emily just smiles, her lips curling against the skin of Naomi's neck. "Is that a 'yes?'"

Coercion, as it turns out, doesn't feel nearly as horrible when it involves lying naked with Emily, the tease of additional orgasms decidedly within reach.

"We'll have to get someone look at it properly," is all Naomi has time to say before Emily starts kissing her with more enthusiasm, the rest of her thought finished in-between contact with Emily's mouth, "because I know fuck-all about motors or tires or gauging the general condition of a fucking _moped_."

Emily is swift to straddle her then, but Naomi, with other plans, subverts the manoeuvre, easily pinning her petite and now extremely excitable girlfriend against the bed. And Emily just laughs because it's like she's just found out she's getting a puppy for Christmas or something; and so Naomi can only shake her head looking down at her.

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

"Everything once?" Emily's hopeful expression is every bit as irresistible as it always has been, this time laced with a deviant glint in her eye that just goes to show she's gotten accustomed to getting her way. To Naomi giving into her, almost pathetically, every time.

Naomi expected this – sort of always knew it'd be more like a landslide, a forest fire, or some other catastrophic natural disaster – that once she gave in to Emily, even if only a fraction, the force of it would become unstoppable. That in the end she'd give way to bigger things, to more of herself, to more of _them_. What she didn't expect, is how much she'd enjoy the absolute calamity of it.

* * *

Cook doesn't just agree to come along but is fully chuffed to have been asked. And neither Naomi nor Emily have the heart to tell him he's only been selected by a matter of desperation since they'd both realised he was the only bloke they knew, between the two of them, who seemed like he might have even a basal knowledge of automobiles. No sense dampening his spirits though, which have been marginal at best since his and Freddie's return to Bristol sans Effy.

[Naomi has yet to make actual contact with her elusive mate, though received a text a few weeks back which read only: _buongiorno_, _bella_, putting her mind at ease that Effy is at least still alive, if not hiding out as an Italian spy.]

Plus, Emily's finally dropped her tiresome routine of sarcastically referencing Naomi's snog with him, so they can resume their previous stance on Cook. Which is to remain entertained, mostly, and annoyed, only occasionally, when his lewd, lesbian commentary has reached its saturation point.

He's walking about the thing with narrowed, discerning eyes and a fag hanging loosely from the side of his mouth, every now and then stooping down to examine something more closely while resting on his haunches. The guy selling it just stands off to one side, answering in gruff, one-word answers when Cook questions him in a language so foreign to Naomi it might as well be Mandarin. But she watches as Cook nods, tinkers here and there on the motorbike, and then finally comes around to clap Emily on the back.

He takes a hard drag off his cigarette before quickly pushing the smoke out, up and over Emily's head. "I'd say you're fucking set, mate. Nothin' wrong with it s'far as I can see – been tuned and shit, looks like."

"You're sure, Cook," Naomi presses, ignoring the ecstatic peals of delight coming from Emily who's got both hands clinging to one of Naomi's. "It's not going to blow up or anything once we've driven it off the lot?"

"Chill out, man," Cook laughs. "It's aces, alright? The fucker's asking a bit much, but I bet with your sharp tongue and Emilio's tits the pairs o' you could talk him down a bit, yeah?"

"How much should we offer for it?" Emily leans in, hushed, like the trio is suddenly a band of conspirators in a Bond film.

"Take him down a couple hundred, at least, Emilio," Cook winks, finishing his fag and flicking it off into the gravel.

Per Cook's prompting, they do manage to shave some off the asking price, though Naomi can't deduce whether it's thanks to her accusatory tone, calling the seller an illiterate wanker [he seems the type to get off on being emasculated], or simply the way Emily's tits look in her vest top. Either way, the deal is done, and it's not until after they've transported it to the car park – Cook driving it, Emily eagerly jumping on the back, Naomi offering to walk the short distance alone – that something else occurs to her.

Because she's been so caught up in the expense of the purchase, the logistics too, and even just the responsibility they'll be taking on by owning and maintaining the thing, that she's not stopped to consider the weight of it. She wonders now though, sitting on a low wall with her long legs dangling and enjoying slow drags of an afternoon fag, if it should have been more of a discussion. Like adopting a cat. She hasn't any real experience on which to base these sorts of decisions – relationships, and that sort of thing, are all relatively new. Something she's learning as they go, her and Emily. And she's always figured, in the event she was about to make some massive mistake in the decisions that affect her life, that her over-analytical brain would kick in and stop her.

Naomi wants to be wary of getting swept away, falling in love being a terribly lovely kind of helplessness. And she wants to stay levelled so that if something were to happen – if she were somehow stripped of Emily in any capacity – it wouldn't be difficult to regain her footing. But the thing she's learning, more than anything, is that planning ahead for the demise of something is about as productive as trying to piss a straight line in the middle of a windstorm. She wants for caution, but is coming to realise it's a losing, fucking battle. Giving into love means resigning to a world without absolutes, learning instead to find constants amid all the chaos.

Emily's taking another go at operating the moped, Cook still riding on it with her, the hem of his pants riding up as his legs stretch wide, helping her hold the thing steady. And she keeps it going for several metres, teetering only slightly, before slamming the brake and screaming out with Cook laughing wildly. He keeps one arm wrapped solidly around her middle, slaps his other hand against his leg as his head tips back, and Emily just looks over to Naomi and calls out, "Hey! Did you see that?"

Buying a moped: fucking chaos. Emily's bright eyes and beaming smile: constant.

She just nods, Naomi does, and gives two thumbs up while pinching her now waning cigarette between a supportive smile. Half an hour later, the sun's dipped behind the Bristol skyline, but it's still too bright for the fluorescent lights to flicker on and it's still too warm to wish she'd brought a jacket. Emily's been doing these huge loops in the empty car park, on the top level, where no one wants to park anyway. Cook keeps alternating between riding behind her and letting her go it alone, teaching Emily to balance differently with and without a passenger. It's probably the most endearing thing he's done since _not_ trying to force a fuck with Naomi earlier in the year. She smiles at the pair of them and stubs out her second fag.

And then he hollers, cupping a hand to his mouth, even though she's not sat that far off, "Naomi! You're up, babe – jump on the back of this with your bird, or I'm gonna be forced to steal her _and_ this new, fucking toy."

Full of reluctance, Naomi slides off the wall and approaches where Emily's just come to rest with the moped still running and her face a brilliant glow of excitement. Naomi doesn't want to ride, not yet. Maybe not ever. She doesn't want to take the risk of getting hurt – of being there to witness their crash-and-burn if Emily loses control. She likes feeling safe, even if it means she's missing out. It's always been so much easier to carry a false bravado, she thinks, than to be brave. But once she's locked eyes with Emily, it's with very little hesitancy [though hardly any grace] that Naomi swings a leg over the seat. And then she's sat quite snugly behind Emily, arms falling easily around her waist, while Emily holds them both steady.

There aren't yet two helmets so Emily turns and says, "We'll just go slow, okay? Don't worry, you'll be safe."

It's about as empty a promise as she's ever made, but Naomi bobs her head in response and hugs tighter like proximity to Emily is what will break her fall. It's not logical. Nor is it probably even true. Though lately, when it comes to feeling safe, being close to Emily has, more often than not, been the cause. It might not last – this _thing_, this romance with a girl who wants to take her on holidays where they don't speak the language; and who wants to ride her around town on an orange motorbike; and who falls asleep on her shoulder after sex and during films. It might crumble entirely, but it's so good, whatever it is and however long it lasts, that to try and prepare for its ending, Naomi thinks, would be doing it a disservice.

And really, it's what she's always wanted: something good. Not absent fathers or dozy mothers. Not cruel classmates or nasty rumours. Not incompetent teachers, cramped housing, or endless stretches of loneliness. And being with Emily is so not any of those things; it's practically a paradigm of good. So Naomi holds her breath and clings tight because Emily is both the risk and the safety net. And she can't have one without the other. It's fucking terrifying – they jolt forward, and she tightens her arms around Emily's waist. And then they're moving, the increased speed creating a warm breeze that blows through her hair. And then she's breathing and she's laughing because more than anything else, it's incredibly freeing: this feeling of her and Emily. Fuck everything else, she thinks, because this is it, and it's lovely.


End file.
